


Outstanding

by PoshelNahuy



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Secrets, Shameless Smut, self-indulgent romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:21:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 39,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25254544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoshelNahuy/pseuds/PoshelNahuy
Summary: Paladin Danse thought he knew how to keep himself together, but he didn't expect one stranger to make him feel like this.(I have basically thrown the in game Danse romance out and completely re-worked it. Timeline changes as well. As a word of warning, if you're a fan of Arthur Maxson, you might not like this fic.)
Relationships: Paladin Danse (Fallout)/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

“Are you sure he’s the right one for the job? We can’t have this going wrong.” She didn’t even try to hide the skepticism in her voice.

He’d only met Desdemona a few hours ago, but he could already tell they weren’t going to get along. She talked about him as if he wasn’t sitting just five feet away, and that pissed him off enough to consider her not worth the effort of chewing her out, so Bruce kept quiet and let his new friend vouch for him. 

He glanced at the confident, larger than life figure standing opposite to her, Gabriel. 

“Des, everyone in the Commonwealth knows who I am, so it can’t be me. You can’t spare any agents, and I can’t spare any soldiers. Not only is he more than qualified for this, he’s also the only guy we’ve got.” Gabriel reasoned with her, speaking with a calm southern drawl to win her over.

Bruce liked Gabriel. He could count on one hand how many people he actually trusted in this hellhole of a world, which was two, and this man was one of them. 

At first glance, the General of the Minutemen had an intimidating appearance. He towered over most others, standing at nearly seven feet tall, and he had about as much muscle as a Super Mutant, but if you were polite, so was he. 

His close friends described him as a ‘big, mostly harmless teddy bear’. 

He would never forget how ‘The General’ had found him in Far Harbor and saved his life, giving him a reason to keep living, and that’s exactly why Bruce was even entertaining this nonsense.

Otherwise, he was hardly inclined to help anyone without compensation. 

Bruce waited for them to finish arguing while he impatiently bounced his leg. 

He’d already stared at every somewhat interesting object in the Railroad headquarters until he felt he was slowly burning a hole into each wall and stray junk item with his annoyed gaze. This was his first time down here, in the Railroad secret base, but all the mystery and excitement had died the moment the door revealed a stale tomb. 

It almost reminded him of where he spent his childhood, but it was missing the cages and maze-like tunnels twisting deep into the ground. Tunnels so deep one could easily get lost. 

He shifted in the rickety chair, seeking a more comfortable position as dark thoughts creeped into his unoccupied mind.

Being underground was still difficult for Bruce, even though his past trauma was decades behind him and an ocean away. He could only remember fragments of his time in the mines, but the ones that remained were still painfully sharp. 

His hand reflexively touched a particular spot on his chest as he remembered every second of getting branded in the very bowels of the underground dungeon at a young age. Translated from his native tongue, it was known to the people on this side of the hemisphere as a ‘gulag’.

Faraway in thought, he hardly noticed that Gabriel had finally managed to use his expert charm to convince Desdemona into agreeing.

“Come in, Bruce. This is the General telling you it’s time to come back to Earth. Over,” Gabriel joked, faking that he was using a radio to contact Bruce, and he nudged his arm in a friendly way. 

“Sorry,” Bruce muttered, gathering himself quickly before he continued, “Are we good here? I’m ready to go topside and get this over with.” 

The two men were silent as they exited to the surface. 

Earlier the same morning, Bruce had been sleeping off a nasty hangover in Diamond City, and now he was about to hike his tired ass, on foot, to try and convince a small forward scouting party of the Brotherhood of Steel to allow him to enlist. 

He didn’t even bother to pretend to be excited about it for Gabriel’s sake, the both of them knowing exactly what Bruce had been through and how much it meant that he was still willing to do this, but neither of them really knew what to say now that the plan was moving forward. 

With the arrival of the Brotherhood’s flying fortress, the Prydwen, both the Minutemen and the Railroad were apprehensive. Their mutual fear had been confirmed when a massacre happened, and so, Bruce had been asked to spy on them.

He could already tell them that the group was full of xenophobic, bigoted idiots running around and making things worse everywhere they went, but Bruce had to concede that he didn’t know the full extent of the damage this new chapter would do. 

Led by Arthur Maxson, the BOS was far different from what it used to be ten years ago in the Capital Wasteland.

“Got enough ammo?” Gabriel said as he looked over Bruce’s supplies for the umpteenth time. 

Bruce made an easy-going noise of confirmation. Patience was not his specialty in the slightest, especially not after being woken up so abruptly and dragged underground, but he gave Gabriel a pass. It was the least he could do after everything Gabriel had done for him.

“Stimpaks?” Gabriel rooted through Bruce’s duffle bag.

He grunted in reply. 

“Are you sure your piece is clean? Don’t want it to jam.” He looked at his ancient rifle with worry.

Bruce subtly rolled his eyes and nodded. 

“You have enough food?” Gabriel counted the homemade, canned goods he’d made while Bruce watched him fret. 

“Yes, dad. I also have enough water and packed extra underwear in case I shit myself,” Bruce smirked with smug satisfaction at his own sarcasm.

Gabriel looked over his shoulder and his expression cycled from indignation to amusement. 

“Don’t make me adopt you, smartass. I’ll make you mow the Castle’s lawn.” The two men laughed together, the sound echoing through the empty alleyway and scattering a nearby flock of black birds. 

“I think you’ve got enough ‘children’,” Bruce mused, thinking about the medley of strange individuals Gabriel had somehow gathered despite their wild differences. 

“There’s always room in the family for one more if you change your mind,” Gabriel smiled at him, flashing his too perfect, pre-war poster face, and the sincerity in his tone reminded Bruce once again why he had agreed to do this ‘mission’ in the first place. 

He was sure Gabriel could convince a stranger to pet a Deathclaw if he wanted to. 

They exchanged small talk for a little while longer and, despite technically being about the same age, Gabriel couldn’t hide that well-worn expression of fatherly pride as he patted Bruce on the back and sent him off. 

Bruce wondered, for just a moment, if he would have had that same goofy grin if he’d gotten the chance to be a father.


	2. Chapter 2

It was nightfall by the time he got to where he was going, and Bruce immediately found himself defending the last three surviving Brotherhood of Steel scouting party posted at the Cambridge Police Station from a swarm of feral ghouls. 

One moment, he was approaching from the South, nearly six blocks away, and the next he could hear shots being fired. He ran to their aid, seemingly coming at just the right time. 

Only one of them was in his power armor, and though it was clear he hadn’t had any time to get his helmet on before the ghouls started bombarding the station, Bruce immediately recognized him as the fiercest one amongst them. 

Bruce hadn’t expected to need it so soon, but he was glad that he had brought his considerably ancient but reliable SKS rifle. As long as he lived, he swore this weapon would never leave his side, and it proved it’s worth as he advanced forward to take a defensive position by the power armored man. 

One of them, clearly injured, hadn’t seen Bruce approach, and his listing aim immediately moved to blast him. 

“Check your fire!” The power armor wielding man shouted at him as the shot narrowly missed Bruce. 

Not so gracefully, Bruce stumbled backwards, flailing to keep himself upright just as a bloated ghoul pounded on him. 

The man in power armor nearly lunged to help as he heard the distinct sound of entrails hitting the concrete, but it hadn't been necessary as Bruce arrived to the stoop victorious, covered head to toe in wet gore as he held a blood soaked hunting knife in hand and aimed his rifle.

One ghoul wasn’t that dangerous, but a pack this large was fatal, and so they were all on high alert. 

For a few brief, loud minutes, it was as though they had all fought alongside each-other for years. Bruce knew he’d accomplished entry into the fold the moment the fracas ended and he glimpsed the impressed expressions. 

The smell of the corpses piled carelessly on the concrete, steaming like meat left in the sun too long despite the frigid weather, nauseated Bruce as he checked each one for signs of activity while the three survivors whispered to each other with suspicion about his convenient arrival. 

The stench of decay and disease permeated through the sweat drenched bandana tied over his nose and mouth, and it was distracting enough that he almost willfully failed to notice the power armor wielding leader of this sorry gang approaching with heavy, clanking footsteps. 

“We appreciate your assistance, civilian, but what’s your business here?” He said with a stern, untrusting voice. 

Bruce frowned under the soaked material and gave the man an annoyed gaze. 

“You’re welcome,” He sighed as he stood to his full height, mentally preparing himself to start lying, “I was told I could sign up for the Brotherhood here.”

The power armor clad man presented himself as Paladin Danse, and even took the time to formally add that he was in charge here as if it wasn’t plain as day. He then told Bruce that he would consider sponsoring him if he helped them get what they needed in order to contact the Prydwen. 

Emphasis on the ‘if’. 

Bruce grit his teeth, swallowing his pride, and agreed to the terms. 

Danse described, in deliberately vague detail, that they needed a ‘deep-range transmitter’ and how to get it, but there was a bite in his tone that Brotherhood boys usually gave to strangers. 

Bruce had anticipated this when he accepted the job, but he still couldn’t maintain a flawless poker face as Danse easily made his blood boil. He tried to disguise the urge to give Danse an earful by pressing the words on the tip of his tongue to his teeth.

Then, oddly, a moment of silence passed. 

He noticed the Paladin’s eye contact peering at his slightly parted mouth, and he snapped his jaw shut.

“Did you have something to say, citizen?” Paladin Danse emphasized his question with a strict tone. 

Something strange had happened for Danse in the brief minutes Bruce’s full face had been revealed after the intense battle. He couldn’t understand why his detail-oriented mind was so fixated on the specifics of Bruce’s face. 

He supposed he was simply trying to size up this newcomer, and it was only natural to notice certain intrigues.

“No, sir,” Bruce played along, acknowledging to himself that if this was gonna work he’d have to act like a soldier and he begrudgingly moved along with the plan, “I’ll help you get that transmitter.” 

The Paladin allowed him into the Police Station after some considerable hesitation, and allowed Bruce to resupply while sharing the name and rank of the two accompanying him. 

“This is Scribe Haylen,” He gestured towards the woman tending to the other man. She smiled kindly at Bruce and thanked him for his help. 

He got the feeling he was going to like her. 

“And Knight Rhys,” Danse strode over to inspect Haylen’s handiwork, “You holding up, soldier?” 

Rhys shot the stranger a sour, hateful glare, and immediately expressed hostility at the very idea of allowing ‘some cap hungry rando’ into the fold. 

As Danse reprimanded him for his attitude towards someone willing to lend a hand, Bruce let the miserable critter see his subtle, crooked sneer. He could tell this one was going to take some work, if the situation could even be helped. 

“Ready,” Bruce had finished dropping the bulk of his supplies in a locker, bringing only what he needed for the trip to Arcjet and leaving the rest as insurance. 

“Excellent,” Danse confiscated the locker key from Bruce as they had arranged and placed it safely in a compartment on his suit, “Your belongings are safe here. If all goes well, I will return them when we get back.” 

He flipped his helmet in the air, caught it, and gracefully placed it over his head as if he’d practiced that trick hundreds of times. Bruce made a mental note that Danse was unsurprisingly a bit of a show off and turned to lead the way out so that the Paladin couldn’t see the amused smirk on his face.


	3. Chapter 3

Down the road to Arcjet a bit, Danse began asking questions, trying to surmise the strangers motivations. “So, where are you from?” 

Bruce, gave reserved answers, having little to no patience for small talk. “Nowhere. I don’t have a home.” 

Danse considered how, back at the Station, Bruce showed ample skill at plotting a route to Arcjet on a well worn map he produced from his provisions. It was clear to him that Bruce must have decent experience traveling alone in the Wastes. 

“What brought you to our location?” Danse maintained a steady position just behind Bruce as they walked. It was a force of habit for him to never show his back to an outsider. Especially one with a loaded weapon. 

One precision shot could hit the fusion core on his suit and blow him to high heaven and, until he was sure Bruce could be trusted, he aimed to keep it this way. 

“Was told about you guys in Diamond City,” Bruce was aware why Danse had placed himself at the rear. He knew Danse was sizing him up. Assessing the risk. 

A small, sarcastic voice in Bruce’s head joked that Danse was checking him out and must like what he saw. 

“Noted. No more questions for now, let’s focus until we get there.” Danse knew it was going to be difficult to get answers from such a taciturn individual, so he let it go for the moment.

It was true that Danse had been carefully observing Bruce this entire time, and as he permitted himself to diligently study the outsider he may have noticed, casually, that Bruce cut a decent figure. 

At first glance, Bruce was tall and conventionally strapping. He had broad shoulders and strong facial features that were half-obscured by a wild, bushy beard. Dirty blonde hair tied in a knot behind his shapely head. Underneath the tattered leather coat Danse could tell he didn’t eat as often as one should, but years in the Wasteland had still benefited his overall muscle mass. 

If not for his incredibly filthy, weathered appearance, common for almost everyone nowadays, Danse imagined he’d easily turn a few heads.

In fact, Bruce looked as though he hadn’t had a decent scrubbing in years. Smelled like it, too. Danse tried not to acknowledge the pungent odor that occasionally wafted towards his nose, an all too common reality amongst wastelanders, and imagined taking a hose to him until Bruce shined like new power-armor. 

The hygiene issue could be addressed at a later time. That was, if he was a man of his word and followed through with his promise to help. 

They remained in mutual silence until, inside Arcjet, Danse reminded Bruce to stay close and be on guard. 

“Yes, sir,” Bruce said sharply and began sweeping and clearing room after room with Danse as if it was second nature. Occasionally, as they journeyed further in, he would affirm that each room was clear.

Danse’s curiosity had peeked. 

In his experience, he had never seen a common Wastelander behave in such an orderly and precautious fashion, let alone witness the telling trigger discipline Bruce employed. He began to suspect that Bruce may be a former Gunner, or some other type of hired gun with a militaristic background, and he kept that possibility in mind as he followed Bruce deeper into the building. 

“These were taken down with energy weapons,” Bruce lowered his rifle as they came upon the scene of several Protectrons laying in pieces and kneeled down to one knee to get a closer look. 

“Good eye. This has to be the work of synths. Not a single drop of blood or spent ammo casing,” Danse turned to Bruce and caught a glimpse of what seemed to be a distinct burn scar peeking just below the collarbone as Bruce stood and his baggy, stain covered shirt shifted down. 

He couldn’t be sure, but the edge looked too clean for it to have been something accidental. 

“Have you ever been to the Capital Wasteland?” Danse asked before Bruce could completely turn away. He saw how the question undoubtedly bombshelled Bruce, who quickly saved face and turned his back on Danse. 

Danse had unfortunately seen first hand the practice of branding people in the Capital Wasteland from victims of slavers.

He had been told that, before the Lone Wanderer wiped out Paradise Falls, it had been a lot more prevalent, but she was just one person and even to this day slavers still found new ways to sell their ‘product’.

“No, never.” Bruce pulled the collar of his shirt to cover the mark again. It wasn’t true, he had been to the Capital, but Bruce couldn’t tell him the whole truth for his own safety. 

Danse sensed the lie in his tone, and made a mental log of that little peek under the mask.

Proceeding forward on high alert, the two of them came to a dead end in a room with a door that refused to budge. The decent sized office space was completely trashed, as was expected when delving into pre-war ruins, and their only option was a terminal near the back on a desk. 

“Unless we can find a way past this door we may have to double back and find an alternate route,” Danse approached the terminal and checked to see if it would turn on. To his surprise, it hummed to life after his metal encased finger jammed the power button. 

As it slowly booted up, for perhaps the first time in years, his eyes followed the wires that led from the back towards the door. At some point, someone had clearly cannibalized the wires inside to manually operate the opening mechanisms in the door. 

“Watch my back,” He warily put Bruce’s trustworthiness to the test, weapon within hands reach in case the worst outcome were to happen, and began work on decrypting the terminal. 

Fortunately, Danse never had to pull the trigger on Bruce as he calmly stood guard. Instead, Danse found himself ducking behind a support column for cover once the doors opened to reveal an ambush. 

The satisfaction of successfully hacking a pre-war terminal that Danse usually enjoyed was stolen from him amidst the frenzy of laser blasts. He heard Bruce aggressively shout and four cursory bursts explode from his weapon. 

Danse swung around the desk and struck a synth in the chest plate with hip fire. He aimed down the sights, accurised beams of energy wiping out the hostile synths until none remained.

“Outstanding,” Danse proudly announced as they paused to catch their bearings.

That was as good of an opportunity as ever for Bruce to have turned on him, but to Danse’s pleasant surprise Bruce proved in a small way he could be somewhat trusted. The second time around, caught in a firefight with Bruce, Danse had gotten another chance to observe the newcomers' combat skills. “You’re proficient with that weapon. I think we’ll get along famously.” 

Bruce felt the corner of his mouth twitch, almost smirking, “Not too bad yourself, kid.” 

Normally, Danse didn’t appreciate others patronising him, especially subordinates, but the way Bruce had said it was enough for him to let it slide. Danse didn’t understand why, but he was almost fascinated by his deep voice and how strangely it affected him. 

Continuing on, the two of them were eventually forced to climb down a lengthy set of metal staircases dangling precariously over a deep, yawning void as they ironically searched for a way up. The transmitter would undoubtedly be in the command center above this silo, but the only way in was via an elevator. 

They would have to find a way to send power to the lift before they could proceed. 

Reaching the bottom, Danse investigated the intact jet engine overhead with interest, removing his helmet so he could get a better look, “Look at this thing. Hard to believe man has been to the Moon and back until you see pre-war ingenuity like this. Still surprises me every time. The scribes would have a field-day in here.” 

Bruce made an unimpressed noise in his throat, normally obsessed with all things aerial, but in this case he was impatient to get it over with and he let his bored gaze wander as he waited for Danse to move on. 

“Why don’t you check the maintenance wing, I’ll catch up,” It was really just an excuse to spend just a little more time with the engine, mentally sketching the details in his head before the Brotherhood inevitably arrived and broke it down piece by piece. 

Thankfully Bruce didn’t call him out on it. 

The moment Bruce stepped foot over the threshold leading to a room situated off of the main chamber he triggered some kind of invisible security sensor and the two heavy, armor plated doors sealed shut behind him. 

He whipped around, seeing the understandably confused Paladin on the other side and Bruce shoved with his shoulder and kicked with his heel, but the doors weren’t going to budge. Danse tried from the other side and came up equally empty-handed, despite the additional strength of his power armor. 

“There has to be a way to release the doors from your side,” He reassured Bruce. 

Bruce ventured further inside, cursing under his breath as he stumbled across his one and only option. Of course, it had to be another terminal. He had next to no knowledge on computers or how they worked, and cared even less to learn now. 

With considerable effort on his part, Bruce turned the room upside down, hoping that some pre-war idiot had written the password down. 

Miraculously, he found just what he needed tucked behind a cork-board above the terminal. Bruce used the password to unlock the ‘damned thing’ and from there he found an option to redirect power to the auxiliary generators. 

On the other side of an observation window, Danse had watched the entire event unfold with amusement. Up until this moment, Bruce had been calm and composed, but now Danse could see what he was like when he was frustrated. 

It was almost endearing to watch a man in his late thirties grumpily mutter under his breath like a man in his late eighties. 

When the doors still didn’t open he tapped on the glass to catch Bruce’s attention. 

“Try pressing the red button, just here,” He pointed down and to Bruce’s left on the console. 

Bruce stomped over to it, feeling somewhat annoyed with how complicated ‘pre-war assholes’ had to make it, and he punched the button. Panic almost instantaneously set in as the jet engine roared to life in response. 

To make the scenario even less than ideal, a battalion of synths chose this exact moment of all times to begin dropping down and catch Danse by surprise. 

Bruce erratically hunted for another button or a switch that would shut everything down, but every single inch of the console and it’s hundreds of blinking controls confounded him. “Didn’t anyone know what a damn label was back then?” 

He decided it probably couldn’t get any worse and started trying all of them, hoping one of them would work. 

Bruce could only watch in helpless horror as Danse barely managed to don his helmet in time as him and the synths were knocked backwards into the thick concrete walls from the initial heat blast. The synths stood no chance, melting into nothing but molten slag as the temperature rose. 

Danse, however, lasted longer, his suit just strong enough to protect him, but he was unable to stand after a few seconds and fell to his knee. Out of desperation, Bruce tried one last thing and heaved a chair over his head to demolish the console. 

With a few decent blows, the lights flickered and fell dark and relief washed over him as he could hear the engine sputter to a stop and the doors opened. He rushed into the still slightly burning room in a frenzy. 

“Kid, are you alive in there?” He reached Danse and assessed the damage. 

Bruce could see some of the joints still red hot from being forcibly welded together and he knew the power armor would have to be scuttled.

Thinking on his feet, Bruce tugged away a small plate in the back, ignoring the searing pain on his fingertips as the super-heated metal burned his hand. All it took was one well placed punch and Danse was ejected out of the suit and into Bruce’s waiting arms. 

His skin was steaming as if he’d just gotten out of a scalding bath and he had a dazed, but conscious look on his face. 

“Come on, I need you to say something,” Bruce left the power armor behind and carried Danse to the elevator to set him on the cool floor. 

Danse slowly recovered enough awareness to groan a weak reply, “I feel cooked.” 

He wanted to ask Bruce how he had known where the secret eject mechanism was, as it was something only Brotherhood soldiers knew, but dropped the thought to concentrate on staying awake. The intense heat made his entire body feel weak and drowsy. 

Bruce hastily unzipped Danse’s suit and began to pat down the exposed skin of his chest with a wet rag soaked in water. The gentle, soothing touch made Danse hum low in his throat as he sluggishly watched Bruce work. 

“You’re as red as a Nuka-cherry,” Bruce muttered worriedly. 

Danse chuckled weakly at the comment. He sat like that for a moment, letting Bruce treat what was beginning to feel like an painful sun-burn while his eyelids began to feel impossibly heavy. 

“That feels nice,” He didn’t realize he had spoken his mind until his gaze met with Bruce’s and he saw a comforting smile. 

Before blacking out, Danse pondered the strange contradiction of Bruce’s gnarled, battle scarred hands touching him with such gentle care. It was enough to make him wonder what other surprises Bruce was hiding.


	4. Chapter 4

He began coming to when he faintly heard Haylen’s concerned voice in the slightly conscious void he was suspended in. 

Slowly, as he gathered his new but familiar surroundings, it dawned on Danse that Bruce had not only carried him all the way back to the Police Station, but he had managed to complete the mission doing so. Danse stared at the deep range transmitter dangling from Bruce’s belt as he set him down. 

“What happened?” Haylen shouted as she hastily began triage on Danse without missing a beat. 

Bruce’s voice was low, barely audible to Danse, but Haylen seemed to hear him. 

“You...you saved his life?” She said after a brief pause. Danse rolled his head to watch as Haylen went to pounce Bruce with a hug. 

Amusingly, she quickly pulled back with her nose wrinkled as if she’d caught a whiff of raw sewage and started chiding him like a mother would her child, “You reek. If you’re gonna stick around you might as well adopt a basic hygiene routine. Rhys, show him to the showers.” 

Bruce, appearing adequately ashamed, was led away by a jeering Rhys and Haylen huffed as she returned her attention to Danse. 

“Go easy on him, Haylen,” He was thankful the others had left when Haylen began casually disrobing Danse until he was as naked as the day he was born. There was something about the idea of Bruce seeing him in the nude that made him feel incredibly self-conscious. 

“I still don’t understand what happened,” Haylen sounded sceptical, but more so amazed in Bruce’s version of the tale than anything. She fussed, spraying a mild, local anesthetic over the skin on his chest and shoulders, “It looks like you’ve been out in the sun all day. Bruce said he pressed a button that turned on a jet engine?” 

“I told him to,” Danse laboriously explained almost all of it to Haylen, leaving out the inexplicable detail of how Bruce knew about the eject function. 

For some reason, he felt like he needed to investigate further before he outed Bruce's suspicious knowledge. Maybe it was just a gut feeling, but Danse wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. 

She moved onto his arms and legs, listening with a look of disbelief. 

“Then he manages to get the deep range transmitter and carry you here?” She sounded thoroughly impressed. “Well...he’s a smelly scaver, but I think we lucked out, sir.” 

Danse hummed, lost in thought. 

He could vaguely remember feeling his limp body being hauled onto Bruce’s back. Fragments of the sensation of his chest pressing closely against firm muscles that could be felt through thin cloth. The faint ghost of Bruce’s strong grip, fingertips digging into his thighs, from the considerable journey to safety. 

Bruce could have easily left him for dead, or even just given up on the mission, but instead he’d made the effort to go above and beyond the call of duty. He had not only saved Danse, but had somehow secured the tool needed to save his desperate squad, and Bruce had done so without complaint. 

It made him feel things he hadn’t felt in years. Mostly, it made him question how well he would be able to focus on future missions if he was so easily distracted by a handful of kind gestures.

After letting the ointment sit for twenty minutes, Danse was feeling much better and Haylen prognosed his skin would probably start peeling a bit like a sunburn, but other than that his vitals seemed normal. 

He busied himself with setting up the transmitter on the roof by the light of a construction lamp, despite Haylen’s orders for him to rest, until she announced her arrival, “Sir, what do you think? Is he up to Brotherhood standards?” 

Danse turned his attention towards the sound and he was instantly stunned. 

He barely recognized the man that stood before him. 

Bruce looked defeated, like a drenched cat, as he ran a hand along his freshly shaved head. His unkempt beard was neatly trimmed, and Danse couldn’t see a speck of dried blood or dirt on him as he donned a Brotherhood jumpsuit. 

Haylen took a step back to admire the transformation, “I think he cleans up nicely. The uniform suits him as well.” 

At that, Danse caught himself staring for perhaps a moment too long, so he nodded and averted his eyes, “Outstanding.”


	5. Chapter 5

When they had met Danse had been uncertain about accepting Bruce's help, let alone allowing him to join up. 

Now, after having spent nearly every waking moment, one week to the day, watching him like a hawk he noticed the small fractures in his hardened appearance that showed promise. 

He was a natural soldier, applying patience and discipline to every situation like he had been made for this life. Danse could still see that he struggled with being ordered around, especially when it came to Rhys, but otherwise he was a welcome addition. 

It almost made Danse desperate to know more about him, but the intriguing new arrival was reserved to the point of behaving like a brick wall. 

Bruce usually responded with one word utterances or short grunts whenever he could, but Danse knew beyond a doubt when he had more to say. The secretive man’s eyes would waver ever so slightly to the side before he’d speak on certain topics. 

At the station and in his personal quarters at roughly midday, Danse was spending time writing up various reports on their mission status, hoping that soon they could all return to the Prydwen. He anticipated Bruce’s first impression of the imposing war machine to be thoroughly satisfying to watch. 

Every now and then, he’d take a break and sketch on a scrap of paper like he used to years ago when he was a young man. 

He’d picked up this habit when he was much smaller, sketching the interesting things he’d seen by memory alone on sleepless nights. In recent times, he’d been having the same problems, unable to rest when he should and enduring constant migraines. 

Haylen said it was most likely battle fatigue, but Danse wasn’t sure that was all.

It was odd, and Danse couldn’t quite explain why, but lately he’d been sketching Bruce more often than the typical landscapes or fascinating objects. Particularly his eyes. He tried to capture the essence of that steely gaze, but try as he might it just never matched the real thing. 

He scrutinized the drawing, deep in thought and not quite sure what it was missing, when a knock on his door stirred him. 

Hastily, Danse shuffled the papers to hide the drawing before he got up and answered. 

“Sorry to disturb you, sir,” Haylen came with hopeful news, “I received a transmission requesting pickup of some useful tech from command, they would like us to retrieve it and then we are cleared to return to base.”

“That’s excellent to hear. Finally, we’re almost home. We should inform the others, I’ll take point on this mission myself and bring Bruce with me. You and Rhys can prepare us for departure,” Danse smiled at her as he collected his laser rifle.

He found Bruce at the mercy of Rhys, being forcibly made to do pushups as Rhys simply watched and shouted taunts at him. Danse couldn't deny a twinge of guilt, knowing that unless he kept a constant eye, Rhys, who clearly loathed Bruce entirely, would haze him relentlessly.

Being under his command would teach Bruce a valuable lesson about following orders even under duress, and the patience required to be a member of the Brotherhood of Stell, but Danse still didn’t enjoy watching Bruce bristle when Rhys pushed him around.

He surveyed the progress for a moment, cataloging the intricate details of the ropes of muscle on Bruce’s back flex as he kept going.

“Hello, top, you’re just in time to watch this maggot break a sweat,” Rhys sneered as he folded his arms and turned his insults on Bruce, “I’ve seen geezers do push ups better, is that really all you got? Pathetic.”

Bruce grinded his teeth as he bit back the words that threatened to fly, just barely able to hold back and see the bait for what it was. The Brotherhoods strict code of ethics and tenants would have him sent packing empty handed with one well deserved beating, and now that Danse was almost officially his sponsor, Bruce knew if he went down so did he. 

He couldn’t let both Gabriel, and now Danse, down to get the satisfaction of pummeling Rhys into the ground. 

“Wrap it up, we have a new mission,” Danse watched as Bruce sat up on his heels and pulled his sleeveless white undershirt up to wipe the sweat from his brow. He unconsciously mapped the expanse of sweltering exposed skin there, noting old scars and new bruises. 

“Anything is better than watching this useless sack of meat try to do one thing right,” Rhys chuckled.

“That’s enough, criticism is welcome, because it establishes ways to improve, but the ridicule is disrespectful, “ Danse glanced at Rhys with a stern expression before continuing, “Initiate, I’m taking you on a retrieval. I'm happy to announce that, once we’ve secured what we've been asked to collect, we’re all returning to the Prydwen.”

“That’s great, top,” Rhys had displayed humiliation when Danse had barked at him, but now his excitement was palpable and he knew to start getting ready to leave without Danse having to tell him. 

Bruce got to his feet and shrugged his jumpsuit back on, untying the arms from around his waist and then zipping up the front. He left the clasp on the neck opened while he checked his weapon, the custom modified laser rifle Danse had given him, and he lifted his head to look at Danse, “Ready when you are, sir.”

Danse paused at the door to double check their stock of supplies before he removed the safety on his rifle, “Follow my lead, soldier.”

He felt entirely naked going out without his power armor, after having served years basically living in his suit, but he had no way of predicting just how exposed he could truly feel until later that same day.

The retrieval was uneventful, and the two men completed the task as smoothly as possible, but on their return journey things took an extreme turn. Everything went awry when they stumbled upon a raider ambush on a bridge mid-day, and Bruce fell into the icy river after getting hit. 

Danse screamed Bruce’s name with throat-tearing volume as he was helpless to intervene and he watched his body plummet through the ice. Without hesitation, ignoring the incoming fire from the raiders, Danse dove in after him.

His arm snatched around Bruce’s shoulders once he found him underwater and he gripped him tightly as he hurriedly resurfaced. 

Bruce sputtered as he could finally breathe again, and he began fighting just as hard as Danse to reach safety.

The raiders still fired at them as they fiercely struggled to reach the shore together, scrambling up the side of the bank and sprinting forward in full retreat. Danse knew they couldn’t take on a threat like that as hypothermia almost immediately gripped him, and his main concern was getting them to safety.

They didn’t stop until gunfire could no longer be heard, and it seemed they had escaped. 

Bruce leaned against a brick wall as they hid in an alleyway, touching his hand to his chest where he had gotten hit by a stray shot and sucking air in through his teeth with a poignant hissing noise. 

“Are you hurt?” Danse immediately stepped forward, worry consuming his entire expression. 

“No. Just bruised,” Bruce cursed under his breath as he pulled out a metal cigarette case that still held the bullet, nonchalantly frowning at it as he muttered, “Goddamn it. This was good tobacco.”

He wanted to chide Bruce for not taking their situation more seriously, but there was little time for that now as he shivered so forcefully he could feel his teeth click together. They would need to shed their clothes and get warm somehow, and quickly, before they suffered frostbite. 

“We need shelter,” Danse’s expert survival training had him instinctually ducking into the nearest building, what appeared to be apartments, searching for a suitable spot. He quickly settled on the first room and immediately started peeling off his bomber jacket. 

Bruce dragged a barrel in from the outside, his sore, frozen body protesting the effort, and he loaded it with anything burnable. 

Still in survival mode, Danse thought nothing of it when he stripped bare. The only thing on his mind was climbing into the nearby bed to conserve his energy. He knew, with how cold they were, they would need to huddle together and share body warmth, but he only really considered what that would mean as he scavenged for blankets in the nearby closet. 

He hesitated to give the order as Bruce followed suit, his shaking hands struggling with the zipper of his suit, “We need to huddle. Our body temperature will drop dangerously low if we don’t.”

“Understood,” Bruce peeled out of his clothes, briefly taking a moment to bring the growing fire closer, and Danse finally got to see the mark on his chest in full view. 

He had been correct when he assumed it was a brand, and Danse tried to focus on that and only that out of respect for Bruce. It was a seal of some sort, round and bearing letters he couldn't make out. 

Bruce’s boots thudded to the ground before he removed his pants, and Danse pain-stakingly denied his own curiosity. He screwed his eyes shut, preventing his oddly curious feelings for Bruce from becoming even more complicated, and waited until Bruce had climbed behind him. 

Separated by nothing more than a blanket, Danse almost thanked the cold for how it tended to shrink certain body parts as he felt Bruce press tightly to him. He wasn’t sure he could maintain a healthy boundary otherwise, this being the closest thing to intimacy he’d had in years. 

It tended to make him long for it, almost craving it at times, and Bruce seemed to exasperate that need despite years of experience in keeping that urge under control more than anyone ever had. 

The curious difference in his normal behavior confused Danse. He could admit that Bruce was objectively handsome, and seemed kind in his core, but beyond that he had no idea why his heart fluttered whenever he was near. 

“We’ll have to wait here for a bit, until our clothes dry,” Danse pulled the blankets around him as he continued to shake from the impromptu ice bath. 

Bruce pressed his frigid face into the pillow under their heads as he tried to keep his hands to himself, but that was difficult to do when he could feel Danses rear brush against him. Neither of them knew it yet, but they had the same yearning for closeness and a slightly less similar reluctance to seek it out. 

He had flings, never saying no when offered because Bruce would take what he could get, but nothing seemed to fill the cavity in his chest. Not since he lost her. 

Making any moves on Danse would be extremely inappropriate and would put his secret mission in jeopardy, especially considering Danse was his commanding officer, but he still wondered ‘what if’ ever since he’d seen Danse in a relaxed state.

It was like watching an angel rest, despite the context that Danse had been nearly boiled alive in his suit, and Bruce knew he’d been lonely for too long based on how quickly he became enamored with Danse. 

“May I ask something private?” In an effort to keep them both awake, Danse tried to muster a conversation.

“Depends,” Bruce’s muffled voice shivered just like Danse’s did, “What’s the question?”

“The mark on your chest. I was just curious how you got that wound. You don’t have to say if it’s too personal,” Danse anticipated having his question rejected, and he loaded up another in his head, but to his pleasant surprise, Bruce divulged a piece of his story. 

“Slavers,” Bruce turned his head, feeling too suffocated to continue, and his eyes glazed over as the memory came rushing back in, “I was ten when they branded me like cattle.”

“Where?” Danse prodded, trying to see how far he could push his luck. 

“Far, far from here,” Bruce closed his eyes, feeling impossibly drowsy all of a sudden as his chest finally started heating up, “Doesn’t matter anymore. They died when the mine collapsed.”

Danse pondered the bit about a ‘mine’. As far as he knew, Capital slavers didn’t employ any sort of mining operations, but he had to concede he wasn’t fully versed on their ways. He had no interest in learning anymore than what he already had. 

“My condolences, that must be difficult for you to cope with,” Danse said after a long pause, carefully considering how to best say it, but it still sounded hollow. He waited for a response, but when none came he turned his head to look over his shoulder. 

Bruce had almost instantly fallen asleep.

He looked peaceful when like this, his usual scowl completely relaxed and the features of his face had softened. Danse didn’t have to heart to rouse him as he heard the beginnings of a snore, and he left Bruce as he was. Hr accepted that he would have to guard them both.

Trying to occupy his mind, Danse repeated the Brotherhood's tenets to himself like a mantra, but Bruce’s returning, furnace-like heat, warmed his back, and made him feel suddenly drowsy. Just as he spent his last ounce of energy fighting off sleep, Danse hummed softly when Bruce’s arm unconsciously folded over him. 

It was futile trying not to drift off, and Danse let his heavy eyelids slowly close.

They both drifted off together into a deep, dreamful sleep. 

In his mind, Danse lived out a fantasy he could never have. He imagined himself being held, with firm warmth, and his anxieties were nonexistent. Danse remained like that, just allowing himself to be held, until the ground below him opened and began swallowing him whole as his grip on the faceless figure failed. 

Danse roused with a start, feeling a heavy weight holding his body down onto the mattress. 

He only had to turn his head to remember who that was, and he felt his face grow astonishingly hot when he saw Bruce’s face dangerously close to his. It seemed, sometime as they had dozed off, that Bruce had rolled on top of him in his sleep. One arm and one leg draped over him, coiling around Danse in an unintentional embrace. 

Deeply asleep, like a yao-guai hibernating, Bruce’s dead-to-the-world, sonorous snores made Danse remain perfectly still for a moment as he considered his next course of action. He stared as, with slightly parted lips, Bruce seemed to be muttering something in a foreign language. 

He tried not to put too much thought in the distinct, rigid shape pressing to his thigh as Bruce practically smothered him, and despite the loud urges telling him to do otherwise, Danse shook him by the shoulder to wake him up. 

Bruce was quick to push his hips forward as he groggily roused, groaning softly into Danse’s ear as he grinded against him. His hand gripped onto Danse’s shoulder, and his eyes suddenly opened as he realized what he was doing. 

“Sorry,” Bruce bolted upright and turned his face away in shame.

“Let’s just get back to the station, I think our clothes have dried enough,” Danse also hid his face from Bruce, trying hard to banish the growing arousal he felt as he put on his boots.


	6. Chapter 6

They didn’t speak for the rest of that day, or the next, and the vertibird ride to the Prydwen had been incredibly tense. 

Things returned to normal quickly enough, however, and as time passed the incident seemed forgotten altogether. A month flew by and, impressively, Bruce earned his first suit of power armor quicker than any other initiate ever had. 

Danse couldn’t have been prouder, knowing he had helped him reach that goal, and he felt their bond strengthening by the minute. 

Officially his sponsor now, it meant that wherever Bruce went, so did Danse, and he didn’t mind that one bit. In fact, he preferred being by his side, as they seemed to make a near flawless team. There was just one iota of worry for Danse. 

That night still remained unspoken, seemingly like it had never happened, but Danse certainly hadn’t forgotten it. 

At the time, Danse could tell what Bruce had been dreaming about, but not who. 

He found himself occasionally day-dreaming another life where it wasn’t highly inappropriate to have simply kissed Bruce awake, and no matter how hard he stamped down on the thought so that he could focus on more important tasks, it eventually crawled it’s way back every time. 

He’d already accepted that he had some immediate feelings for Bruce, however small, and they were growing everyday, but he knew they could never be together. The Brotherhood would have them both reprimanded for fraternization. 

For now, those urges were kept in check, and Danse carried on with life as if they didn’t exist.

“Found you,” Danse approached him as he was smoking on the forecastle walkway outside, “Finish up, we have a mission.”

Bruce nodded, stamping out his cigarette and pocketing it to trash it later, then turned on his heel to stride towards the power armor bay to collect their suits. 

“Super mutants again. Small group. We should have no trouble mowing them down.” Danse didn’t normally engage in small talk with others, but a small part of him was hoping eventually Bruce would say more than just a few words. 

His low, growling voice was almost calming to listen to, but Danse had no such luck this time as Bruce simply nodded again and climbed into his suit. Next time, maybe. 

Everything was going routinely up until the very last Super Mutant aimed a missile launcher point blank at Danse. He dodged spryly, an expert at maneuvering in his Power Armor, but the shot surprisingly collided with several barrels of explosive material, sending all of them flying in opposite directions. 

The mutant died on impact, but Bruce lived, albeit bruised thanks to his suit, after he crashed through the brick wall like a pencil punching through paper. 

Danse was already by his side and helping him to his feet before he even registered what had just happened, his mind working too fast for his mouth to keep up as he sputtered, “Bruce, are you injured?” 

The panic passed after a brief moment when Bruce crankily assured him he was unharmed and he returned to his feet with a groan. The sickening, sinking feeling of having almost killed Bruce diminished gradually, but it left him shaky and unsure of how he had failed to notice the safety risk.

“You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” Bruce teased, trying to mask the pain with humor.

“After you nearly fried me at Arcjet, I consider us even now,” Danse blurted out, and he immediately regretted his words, feeling like they were uncalled for, that was, until Bruce chuckled with a low, throaty tone. 

The sound took Danse by surprise and an infectious smile formed on his lips , “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you laugh.” 

Bruce shook off as much dust from his suit as possible before yanking his helmet off, “Keep talking, kid. Poking fun at me isn’t gonna get you anywhere good. I’m still pissed that you launched me through the wall.” 

He struggled to maintain his normal dead-pan expression, but Danse could see the corner of his lip subtly curling into a wry smirk.

“And that’s the most you’ve said in weeks.” Danse wasn’t sure why he was deliberately ‘poking the bear’, but it seemed to be just what they both needed. 

He cracked and let out a genuine, from the chest laugh that made Danse feel something uncommon. Like discovering uncharted, wild land. 

Bruce staggered to where his laser rifle had fallen, his laughter dying down as he knelt to pick it up. He thought of how he had clung to the same, sentimental rifle for years with a seemingly unbroken promise, and how it now rested safely aboard the Prydwen. It was strange not having it in his hands, but the rifle Danse had given him made him feel somehow special. 

Like a badge of pride, he wanted Danse to see him carrying it.

He paused, filling the room with expectant silence, and retrieved his new favorite weapon, “Do we need to head back immediately?” 

Danse was taken aback by the question, and he found himself being the one with little to say in response, “Why?” 

Bruce’s gauntleted hand reached carefully into his satchel and he produced an unopened bottle of whiskey. He stared at the brown bottle and then glanced roguishly at Danse. “I think we’ve earned a real drink. Not that piss they pour on the Prydwen.” 

Danse was at first reluctant to join Bruce, something in him telling him that he would get carried away if liquor was involved, but he couldn’t resist the opportunity to share some quality time with him.

By the time he realized he’d been right about the whiskey, the sun began to set and Danse stopped himself in the middle of one of his favorite war stories to remark on the late hour. 

“That’s a first,” He glanced at the half empty bottle in distress, “I lost track of time.” 

His vision danced from the bottle to Bruce and an effortless smile formed on his lips as Danse watched Bruce down the last of his glass before leaning further back on the tattered couch they had found moldering outside. 

Their suits stood side by side, like two polished metal guardians, and the light of the small fire they had built made them shine.

Danse considered how natural it felt talking to Bruce, just like breathing, and he slightly forgave himself for letting the evening drag on like this. At the very least, it was comforting to know they weren’t breaking any rules and wouldn't be needed back for a while. 

“I don’t mind, I’m enjoying myself just listening to you talk,” Bruce responded and spread himself fully over the couch, letting his thighs split open while he ran a hand through his undercut styled hair. 

He thought Bruce was handsome before, but after growing out his golden hair, Danse was even more taken by him, and he tried not to acknowledge how he swooned when Bruce relaxed the way he did now. 

“Bruce, may I-,” Danse trailed off as he involuntarily pictured himself running his fingers through his hair. With some discipline he managed to push the intrusive image out of his thoughts, “May I speak off the record?” 

“You have been for the past few hours, ever since my hand touched this bottle,” Bruce poured himself another drink from the shared bottle and handed it back to Danse. 

Danse took a moment to fill his glass, having lost count of how many that was now, but he continued anyway. “When you were placed under my sponsorship, I had some serious reservations about it. You’re quick-tempered with others, drink like a fish and smoke like a chimney.” 

Bruce looked up as he was going to light his third cigarette with mild consternation.

“Despite all that, this has turned out to be a rewarding experience… for both of us. I thought I was going to have to teach you everything I know about being a Brotherhood soldier, but it seems like you were made for this. ” Danse had long ago lost count of the amount of times Bruce just seemed to know things, such as the emergency eject button on a suit of power armor, but it remained a mystery how he had learned such things.

At this point, Danse had so much faith and trust in Bruce, that it didn’t seem important right now.

Bruce eyed him keenly and Danse wondered, just for an instant, if he could read his mind. 

“It sounds like there’s more,” Bruce sat up, leaning on his elbows as his eyes fell to the fire while he warmed his hands. He dreaded the day when Danse, with his incredibly observant eyes, realized why he blended in so well with the Brotherhood. 

Danse began rubbing nervous circles into the palm of his hand as he prepared to speak about a difficult topic for him. 

“I grew up in Rivet City as a junker,” He started, eyes forcefully locking onto a patch of dirt on the ground as he told Bruce about his past. Hardly anyone was privy to this information, but somehow it felt important that Bruce know. 

At length, he described his friendship with a man named Cutler, trying his best not to choke up as he arrived at the part of the memory he dreaded retelling. Cutler had been captured by Super Mutants and Danse had to fight just to assemble a rescue team, but he had been too late. 

He quickly and covertly wiped the water welling in his eyes at the end, composing himself with a stiff upper lip. 

There was so much more he wanted to say, but he had reached his limit. Opening up wasn’t preferable for Danse and right now, with Bruce, he felt unbearably exposed.

“It sounds like he was a brave man,” Bruce locked eyes with him to give his full attention. He’d, of course, noticed the enticed gaze Danse had given him earlier, but he knew he needed to be heard more than he needed to be touched. 

“He was,” Danse weakly muttered, thinking about how Cutler and him would sit at the docks and just hold each-other. He couldn’t think of anything better to say than a strangled, “You remind me of him sometimes, you know, reckless hotheads the both of you.”

Danse found himself chuckling, imagining Bruce doing some of the irresponsible things Cutler had done, but he felt himself crumble inwards as softer memories barged in. 

Before a single tear could fall, Bruce came to sit with him and put a comforting arm around his shoulders. He wanted to say something, anything, to comfort Danse, but his words felt useless. Instead, Bruce allowed him shelter, silently providing a safe place for him to grieve. 

He stared up at Bruce, eyes wide with surprise at the uncharacteristically tender but welcome gesture. 

Danse kept his hands to himself, too fearful of what would happen if he reached out, and he let his face be buried in the warm flesh of Bruce’s shoulder. He felt emotionally drained and his inebriated state finally set in as he inhaled the earthy smell warmly radiating off of Bruce. 

Relaxing, Danse lost track of time as they just sat in silence.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Short chapter, I apologize)

Danse woke up, early the next morning, with a pounding headache and almost no memory of how he’d gotten back on the Prydwen, but he could piece together what happened from fragmented memories. 

Judging by how he was still in uniform, and the glass of water that was placed nearby on a side table, Bruce must have been here to help him into his bed. Simultaneously, he felt deeply embarrassed and very grateful. 

Hopefully, no one saw how drunk he had gotten and he could quietly thank Bruce without raising any suspicion. 

“Never again,” He groaned as his legs swung over the side of the bed and he got up to begin the day.

Danse diligently proceeded with his daily morning checklist despite not feeling up to the effort, making sure he was presentable, before he made his way to the mess hall to find Bruce. 

Morning reveille would sound in just three minutes and he half expected to be the first to arrive, but as he passed the corner he could already see just who he was looking for waiting for him with a cup of coffee in hand. 

“Morning,” Danse’s yawning voice broke the silence and Bruce turned his exhausted, dark circled eyes on him.

Bruce smirked into his cup as he took a sip, “You look like hell.” 

Danse smiled, too tired to disguise the genuine fondness that formed on his lips, and he sat next to him before graciously accepting the cup of coffee Bruce had saved for him, “Speak for yourself. Your eyes are bloodshot. We got a bit too carried away last night.”

Bruce put down his cup and rubbed his aching, puffy eyes, “I’m too ‘old’ to be up late drinking like that, luckily this mud they call coffee is just the kick in the ass I need.” 

The same recording of a trumpet playing morning reveille, played every day at exactly 0600, resonated through the ship and was followed by the sound of the entire Brotherhood stirring awake.

“You’re not old. You only have a few years on me, and I’ve seen you spar, but you’re right. It was pretty irresponsible of us both,” Danse conceded, taking his first sip and humming with delight. 

The caffeine had an almost instantaneous effect on Danse’s throbbing temples and he added, “I don’t regret it too much. You’re easy to talk to. It’s refreshing being able to talk to you as more than just your commanding officer every now and then.” 

He realized with a small start that Bruce was staring at him thoughtfully. 

“What’s the matter?” He put down his cup and anxiously waited for a response. 

Bruce glanced away with a shyness unlike himself. After holding Danse in his arms twice now, he had considered the attraction he had for him more seriously, but he was conflicted. 

“Nothing.” He muttered and quickly brought his cup back to his mouth just as streams of soldiers started arriving to get breakfast.


	8. Chapter 8

For the following week, Danse couldn’t help but notice Bruce had become even more reserved than usual around him. It made him paranoid that he’d overstepped a boundary when he spoke about his past, and it was eating Danse alive not knowing. 

Every now and then he’d catch Bruce staring at him with a strange, unreadable expression, but when questioned about it he would just say the same thing. 

“Nothing.”

Danse had scarcely felt so insecure in his life. It had never been a point of contention for him to know what was going through someone else’s mind, but now, even in the heat of battle, his mind wandered over his concerns. 

He wanted to give Bruce time until things went back to how they used to be, but Danse cracked. He needed to confront him. 

Bruce was a habitual smoker and Danse knew exactly where to find him. 

Up four flights of steps and onto the path leading to the north forecastle door, Danse could feel the ache in his chest escalating. He was worried about Bruce, who hadn’t spoken more than a sentence to him since that night. 

Worried his friendship had dwindled before it could really grow and worse, that he was allowing his emotions to drive him like this. 

At the door, he took a deep breath and paused to compose himself. 

Bruce was right where he expected. A lit cigarette hung from his lip, and unsurprisingly there was a cold beer in his hands. 

“Hello,” Danse felt his voice leave himself with an uncertain tone. 

Bruce rotated himself from his sitting position to slightly face Danse, “Hey.” 

There was an awkward silence that filled the space between them, thick enough to slice with a knife. Both men looked at each other knowingly. 

“I wanted to-”

“I’m sorry I-” 

They spoke simultaneously before pausing to share a refreshingly light hearted chuckle. Danse hadn’t even spoken his peace yet, but he already felt slightly better seeing that familiar smirk on Bruce’s face make a surprise appearance after having been missing for the past week. 

“You go first. Join me, if you want,” Bruce good-naturedly patted a spot on the metal platform next to him and Danse happily obliged, letting his legs dangle over the edge alongside Bruce’s.   
He produced another cold beer from the cooler resting to his other side and handed it to Danse after biting off the cap. “What’s on your mind, Paladin?”

Danse simply held the bottle in hand, staring at the condensation on the brown glass in contemplation. 

“You are,” Danse confessed in a low tone, almost a whisper. He hesitated but, after a moment of silence, he turned his head to look at Bruce. “Your behavior has changed, and I’m worried I was out of line when I told you about Cutler. Is that why you’ve been so distant?” 

Bruce moved his gaze to the horizon as he found it difficult to look at Danse. Everything about him was perfect in Bruce’s eyes, and he wanted nothing more than to tell him everything, even the truth about his reason being here, but still he wavered, “That’s not it.”

“Then, what is it?” Danse leaned forward, studying the sorrowful, worried expression written on Bruce’s face and feeling his heart fall. 

Bruce frowned, his eyebrows knotting with concern, “It’s complicated and very private, Danse.” 

For a moment, Danse couldn’t quite pin why that sentence struck him as unexpected, until he realized this was the first time Bruce had ever called him by his actual name. Not Paladin. Not kid. Not ass. Danse. 

For some reason, inescapable as most things concerning Bruce were to him, he really liked the way his name sounded when Bruce said it. 

“I’ve been trying to find a way to tell you, but I’ve never been good at these things.” Bruce scratched at the rugged patch of hair on his chin. He felt completely different around Danse, like he could be himself without the worry that he’d get pushed away. 

He almost reminded Bruce too much of someone he’d lost a long time ago, and didn’t help either that Bruce knew he was getting attached to Danse. 

He continued after a brief pause to collect his thoughts, “After you shared your past to me, I thought it was only fair I repaid the favor. I know you’ve been curious ever since we met... It’s just...hard to talk about it.” 

Bruce began his story with a completely unforeseen start, “I grew up as a slave in Russia. A dried up coal mine, deep underground. Didn’t see the light of day until I was a man.” 

Dumbfounded, Danse felt his entire face express amazement, “Russia? How did you get here?” 

Bruce smiled slyly and nudged Danse with his shoulder, “Patience, I’ll get to that.” 

Danse listened on the edge of his seat to the fascinating tale as it slowly unfolded.   
Bruce unzipped his uniform and pulled his shirt down to show the brand on his chest again, explaining the cyrillic after saying it in his native tongue, “It doesn’t translate well, but it basically means pitch black hole. The gang that owned us forced us to mine although there was no coal left to be had.”

After allowing Danse time to study the mark, nearly tempted to suggest he touch it before Bruce thought better, he continued. He described his harrowing escape at the age of twelve, and the brave people who found and quickly adopted him, keeping his brand a secret at the risk of the gang retaliating.

Remnants of the long dead Russian military raised him like his own, and soon he belonged to a unit that was known as, ‘The Certain to Die’. 

“It sounds better in Russian,” Bruce added with a fond smile as he remembered the rag-tag band.

Worse things than ghouls and super mutants existed in Russia, and if the bitter cold didn’t kill you, the creatures that lurk in the night would. Tall, spindly horrors, rumored to have been once human before Russia’s own copycat recipe of FEV horribly changed them. Bruce instinctively crossed his heart superstitiously when he named them. 

Drekavacs. 

Bruce showed Danse yet another scar, one on his forearm that looked as though he had been nearly shredded in heavy machinery. “You think Deathclaws are deadly? These things were faster, smarter, and hunted in large packs at night. Silent, until they were right next to you, when you heard the thing scream you knew you were a dead man.” 

Danse got a sinking feeling, knowing that there had to be a reason he wasn’t still in Russia with his found family. 

“Not many can say they survived an encounter, and even if you do, their bite carries a near fatal infection. I barely survived,” He trailed off, the painful, heart-wrenching memory playing in his mind for the first time after nearly two decades of avoiding it. 

“Take your time, I’m here for you,” Danse felt compelled to reach out and comfort him, but he hesitated. He settled on resting the palm of his hand on Bruce’s shoulder, gently, instead of holding him in his arms like he had wanted to. 

“Thank you,” Bruce took a moment to reflect on that day, staring at the scar hatefully as if it had been responsible. He still prayed for his fallen brothers and sisters, but cynically he wondered if they had been the lucky ones. 

Before continuing, he lit a cigarette.

“We were the ones who were called when a nest was found, and this one seemed no different from the others,” Bruce closed his eyes, focusing on the warmth and pressure of Danse’s touch to comfort him, “We were told the pack was small, but...it turned out to be the largest one anyone had ever seen. There were...too many.”

He described finally being allowed to come along, barely sixteen, as they scouted the mouth of the cave in broad daylight, and the torch revealed the bone-chilling number of them clinging to the walls. Hundreds upon thousands of glowing eyes staring back at them. 

“The commander was worried that they were showing signs of activity in the daytime, but we still let our guard down,” Bruce swallowed the lump in his throat, biting back burning tears, “They took us by surprise, killing my entire squad in mere moments. Save for me, as I cowered under their bodies until it was over.”

Danse couldn’t stand by and let him feel so low without providing him the same kindness he had afforded him, and he pulled Bruce closer as he finally allowed him to hold Bruce.

Bruce felt his shoulders shake as the tears flowed freely, feeling himself shatter into a million tiny pieces in Danse's grasp. There was more to his story, a true bombshell of a confession just around the corner, but he didn’t have it in him to continue in this state. 

“I would never have guessed you’d been through all that, the way you carry yourself exudes nothing but unmoving strength,” Danse finally understood why Bruce was the way he was, but the revelation had been heavier than expected. Regardless, he would carry the burden of knowing for him. 

Bruce slightly misunderstood him, feeling as though he’d been too open, and he tried to backpedal through his entire confession, “I apologize...got carried away and I chewed your ear off.” 

“It’s not like that. Bruce, you can tell me anything and trust that I won’t share your private stories with anyone. The bond we’ve made,” Danse paused, searching for the correct words before he settled on confiding in him an honest truth. “I’ve never considered anyone to be a good friend, like Cutler was… until I met you.” 

Bruce turned his head to look at Danse, a meaningful look in his tear filled eyes. 

“It’s a good feeling, but frightening all the same. Caring about someone and then losing them, it changes you. I don’t want either of us to go through that again.” Danse sighed, feeling a weight lift from his shoulders, and he sipped on the beer to banish the shaky nerves it took to say that. 

“That...means a lot to me, thank you Danse,” Bruce felt crushing guilt overcome him. He knew, in his core, that he was going to have to eventually betray Danse for his mission. There was nothing he could do to keep Danse safe from that, and distancing himself now would be impossible. It seemed that it was inevitable they would become close.


	9. Chapter 9

An unexpected winter radstorm trapped Paladin Danse and his squad inside of an abandoned high-rise apartment building near the center of Downtown Boston some months after his heart to heart with Bruce. 

Their run of bad luck seemed to ease when, thankfully, it was apparent that no one was home. 

Splitting into teams of two, Danse and Bruce took the top floors while Haylen and Rhys took the basement just to be sure they were alone. They spent the next hour clearing each room and securing exits so that, while they waited out the storm, they wouldn’t be taken by surprise. 

Meeting back in the lobby after a satisfactory job well done, Danse felt comfortable enough to park his power armor next to Bruce’s and check on his crew.

“Alright, it might be a while, but get some rest and we’ll pick up the mission when the fracas clears,” He eased into a bench next to Bruce, close but not too close, and let the warmth of their makeshift barrel fire thaw his extremities. 

This time of year, when the winter swung back around full force just before spring and ice cold rain fell from the sky instead of snow, had always been painfully frigid back home in the Capital Wasteland, but he didn’t expect it to be so much worse in the Commonwealth. It continued to be a point of frustration for him.

Danse hated being cold. It was right up there with getting soaked and having no means to dry off, which he’d already been through not long ago. A papercut sprayed with lemon juice would almost be preferable to the teeth clattering, stinging bite of the cold winter air around them. 

A round of irritable affirmations made it clear that no one else here much liked being cold and wet either. 

Despite this, Danse wore a fond smile, watching Haylen and Rhys heat up their rations for a moment. He was happy to have them back on the team after months of running operations alone with Bruce, as their odd bond was comforting to watch. 

He wondered if they would ever address that unspoken thing between them. Danse thought they made an excellent match, guaranteed to get approval from Elder Maxson, and moments like this only justified that belief. 

Same grumpy expression, but they were sharing food and using each other's body warmth to fight the cold by sitting close enough to touch as if it was second nature. The way they bickered like an old couple one moment and sent each-other into fits of laughter the next made him achingly long to have a relationship like that, but he knew, as a Paladin, the conflict of interest would be almost impossible to justify to the upper ranks.

Danse shivered forcefully, the chill in the air outside slipping through cracks in the building's exterior to bite at him despite his protective suit. He thought, momentarily irked by the notion, that these uniforms were supposed to be made to keep the elements out. So much for that. 

He was considering just biting the bullet and hopping back into his power armor, where it was warmer, when he noticed something move out of his periphery. His tendency to always be on high alert kicked in and he snapped to attention, only to see Bruce handing him the wool lined bomber jacket he had been wearing.

“I can’t take that,” Danse tucked his hands under his arms, trying to politely resist the temptation as much as humanly possible. He knew full well every kind gesture only added to the mountain of reasons why he was falling for Bruce, and if he could help it he would avoid making it worse.

Especially now as he was fondly sifting through the memories of them touching,

“You need it more than I do, kid.” Bruce quietly chuckled, the sound rumbling from his chest almost like the sound of a distant roll of thunder, and he carelessly tossed it around Danse’s shoulders, ignoring the protests. 

“The cold doesn’t bother me so much,” He subtly winked at Danse and gave him a smirk that sent a small chill up Danse’s spine as he whispered low enough that the other two couldn’t hear him, close to Danses ear, “Grew up in Russia, remember?” 

Not wanting to cause a scene in front of the others, Danse begrudgingly accepted the coat. He readjusted it so that it slid into place over his shoulders, finding it almost humorous how, on him, it was far too big. 

He had been there when this coat was custom fit for Bruce. His broad shoulders and considerably tall stature barely fit in the one size fits all uniforms, but it had been too much for the standard issue jacket. 

Danse let a small smile slip when he recalled how Bruce had nearly torn the back clean down the middle when he tested it with a stretch, and the quarter-masters irritated face when it became clear he’d need one specially made for him. 

The jacket radiated with latent heat, trapped in the leather and wool from the previous occupant, and Danse closed his eyes when the sensation washed over him like taking a warm shower. He inhaled the scent left on the fabric, catching hints of musky cologne, the bitter, oily smell of gun metal, and faint traces of cigarette smoke. 

Combined, they put Danse into an oddly dreamy state of mind. He leaned back against a wall to drink in the drowsy comfort, his thumb tracing over the embroidered name on the inside lapel. 

Some time later, as sleep was just beginning to carry him away, he opened his eyes lazily to see that it had already taken the others. He noted that Haylen and Rhys' hands just barely touched as their chests rose and fell in tandem. 

Bruce would eventually begin loudly snoring when he was really out as he laid on his back feet away from the others, and Danse didn’t know why, but he had grown to enjoy that sound. 

At first, on the night after Arcjet, he was kept wide awake by the sonorous racket. He thought someone had started sawing logs out of nowhere until he realized the surprisingly loud noise was coming out of Bruce. 

Now, however, he had not only gotten used to it, he would stay up just to hear it start before he could finally rest. It’s effect on him worked better than any sleeping pill. 

He heard the first hints of the very sound leave Bruce and, for a moment, he allowed himself to drift off into a restless sleep. 

Danse didn’t stay like that for long, however, when he woke from a startlingly pleasant dream in which Bruce was holding him from behind. He could still feel the imaginary embrace as he sat up and pressed his hand to his face where the sensation of Bruce’s prickly beard tickled the skin on his cheek.

He could have sworn it was real had it not been for the sight of Bruce laying motionless, still asleep and loudly snoring, several feet away. 

Danse reluctantly shrugged the jacket off, deciding he was awake now and needed to find something to do to work out his frustrations, then he carefully draped it over Bruce. 

There had been one room that caught his eye, and Danse’s eidetic memory guided him to it as he climbed the stairs without looking back. 

Just moments after he’d left, Bruce woke from a deep sleep after his unconscious mind registered something had touched him. Sluggishly, lifting and turning his head to collect his surroundings, he saw Haylen and Rhys were still out cold, but Danse was missing. 

The storm pounded violently outside, battering the walls of the building and making the metal walling loudly complain from the abuse. Their little fire was nothing but embers now, barely keeping the space illuminated. 

Bruce groaned as he sat up, his joints left sore from the uncomfortable hard floor. He pulled his jacket back on once he noticed it was there, laboriously threading one arm through at a time, and he set out to search the rooms. 

He followed the sounds of flesh hitting something similarly firm and restrained grunts once he’d reached the third floor. Down the hall, and hooking a right, he came upon his query and leaned on the open door-frame. 

“Need some company?” He announced himself and smirked with impish delight when Danse’s reaction was to nearly jump out of his skin. “I’m better practice than a stationary target.”

Danse took a moment to stand there, looking like he’d been caught red handed, before he put both hands on the punching bag he’d found to silence the creaky hinge it swung on. He looked around at anything and everything but Bruce while he caught his breath and carefully chose his words. 

“I suppose, if you can’t sleep either, we could practice some hand-to-hand combat exercises,” He tried to decipher the deadpan expression on Bruce’s face as he entered into the room and started disrobing down to his bare chest to match Danse. Uniform, as usual when sparring, tied around the waist and undershirt tossed to the side to prevent possible bloodstains. 

Danse waited for Bruce to face him again before he spoke. 

“Thank you for lending me your coat, by the way,” He said as he put his fists up. 

Bruce held his hands, palms out, to give Danse something to strike. “Anytime. You were shaking so hard it was only natural to lend it to you.”

Danse started slow and easy in the beginning, just applying enough force behind his swings to make a soft sleeping sound when his fists connected with Bruce’s palms. He didn’t want to take it too far and accidently batter Bruce. 

After a minute they switched roles, and Bruce took it a bit more seriously. 

Danse could feel something competitive rousing in him as they eventually switched again and Danse mindfully tested the limits, but with Bruce there didn’t seem to be any. 

“Quit holding back and show me what you’ve really got, kid,” Bruce taunted him and his expression remained mostly hard to read with the exception of the slightest hint of playfulness in his steely eyes.

“You might regret saying that,” Danse willingly took the bait as they both sunk into grappling positions, trading fists for open clasped hands and shoving. 

He planned on making quick work of his larger opponent, using his own size and momentum against him, but Bruce was a bit more grounded than he had expected. Switching tactics on the fly, just as he felt his grip on Bruce slipping, Danse went for the takedown. 

In one swift motion he maneuvered his leg around Bruce’s knee and brought them both down.

A desperate power struggle ensued as Bruce felt the wind knocked out of him on impact, his back hitting the ground so suddenly it genuinely surprised him, and he barely had the wherewithal to retaliate. 

He was able to topple Danse from his strength alone, but Danse was more adept than expected at using that same strength against Bruce. Having never experienced a challenger quite like Danse in his thirty-eight years, Bruce put more effort into gaining the upper hand as he dusted off an old, and somewhat dirty, trick. 

“Hey, what is that?” He pointed in a random direction and Danse fell for it.

He quickly pinned him down facing the ground after snatching his arm behind him back, and slammed his full weight into Danse. 

Danse gasped softly as his face pressed to the chilled floor before an involuntary, elongated moan spilled from his throat. The feeling of Bruce pressing into him, every inch of promise felt even through their uniforms, and Bruce’s strong grip on him sent a shockwave of white-hot pleasure through his core. His body barely maintained balance on shaky knees as his lower half remained upright despite the strain. 

To his dismay, Bruce had obviously heard the intense keening sound he had made, and he sat up quickly to release Danse from the hold. 

They sat stunned like that for a moment, Bruce sitting on his heels as he looked at Danse with bright, wide eyes and Danse moving to sit on his rear with his legs splayed as he held himself up by his hands and leaned back. 

“Did I...hurt you?” Bruce broke the silence, unsure of what else to say. He knew that wasn’t it, but for Danse’s sake, he pretended it hadn’t been what they both knew it was. 

“You didn’t. I’ve just never been bested like that before,” He focused his gaze on Bruce despite his waning courage to do so, scrutinizing the stunned expression on his face. 

Danse was frustratingly aware that he wasn’t thinking straight right now and that there was nothing he could do about it. He tried to block out the explicit images of Bruce taking him here and now, but they completely engrossed his thoughts. 

An almost undeniable urge came over him as he felt Bruce’s fingertips gently touch his shoulder with concern. 

Danse grappled him again, aggressively pulling Bruce by the arm until his back pounded to the floor and Danse eagerly straddled his waist. Blindly charging past every boundary he’d set for himself, Danse kissed Bruce fervently as his fingers tangled into soft, gold hair. 

Their lips met in between, colliding forcefully as years of well-manicured discipline suddenly left Danse. He dragged his tongue over the bottom of Bruce’s lip, requesting entrance, and they enthusiastically sought out ways to steal soft groans from each other. 

Bruce overpowered him again, rolling them together as he tugged Danse’s wrists over his head and earned another drawn out, pleading cry. 

“I can’t fight it anymore. I want to feel you inside of me, right now,” Danse ordered his own destruction, tightening his thighs around Bruce as he could feel their stiff cocks grind together. He lifted his hips up in the air to allow Bruce to make him totally exposed and shivered as his warm skin clashed with the cold air. 

Bruce’s hand quickly disappeared between Danses legs, eager to follow orders and give Danse what he wanted.

Danse sucked air in through clenched teeth as he felt Bruce’s finger gently, pry it’s way in, careful not to cause too much harm, and sink all the way up to the third knuckle. 

His head thudded against the floor as he let out a loud, open mouthed groan. Danse tried to bury his face in his bicep, feeling incredibly vulnerable under Bruce’s burning touch, but every muffled sound still managed to escape.

Bruce tugged him into his lap as he sat upright, lifting him off the floor and enveloping him in a powerful embrace as his fingertip mapped Danse’s insides. He began whispering crude compliments and sweet nothings in Danse’s ear while his other hand groped at his lower back. 

Danse pressed his mouth against Bruce, burying his face into his broad chest, trying to muffle himself again as he wrote poetry with the tip of his tongue. His jaw reflexively clenched and he bit down hard when a second finger was gradually introduced. 

Bruce grunted at the sharp pain as Danse left teeth marks on his skin, but he didn’t falter. 

Danse felt his back come to rest against the wall as Bruce stood to his feet and pressed him there, making him gasp and shiver, and he let out a surprisingly desperate whimper when Bruce removed his fingers. 

He watched, heart thundering in his chest, as Bruce easily held him in place with one hand as his other tugged his uniform down like his life depended on it. Danse could feel his painfully rigid cock press to him, positioned dangerously close to the entrance. 

“Are you ready for me?” Bruce’s hushed tone tickled Danse’s ear before he pressed his mouth to his neck. 

“I’ve never wanted anything more in my entire life,” Danse replied with a shaking, pleasure soaked voice, left breathless from the anticipation.

Danse felt his spine sharply arch at the searing pain that proceeded after. It felt like Bruce was going to split him clean in half. His nerve endings felt completely fried until the discomfort almost instantaneously morphed into overwhelming ecstasy and he bucked against Bruce, spurring him to continue.

For a moment, Bruce was worried he’d be too rough and hurt him, but Danse’s appreciative moans proved him wrong. His hands hungrily held onto Danse’s ass with a bruising grip and he felt a throbbing heat set him ablaze as Danse freely moaned his name. 

His breath hitched whenever he felt Danse clench tightly around his cock. Bruce kissed him roughly, the steady, powerful stride of his hips intensifying. “Say my name again.” 

He plucked at Bruce's bottom lip with his teeth and looked him in the eye before he obliged the request. They were teetering tantalizingly close to the edge of oblivion. 

Danse dug his fingernails into the firm, flexed muscle on Bruce’s back, leaving behind red marks, as waves of pleasure crashed into him, making him feel altogether too much and not enough. 

Bruce’s heavy breathing erupted into stretched out moans as he held nothing back, pouring every ounce of frustration and blistering desire into his motion. They had both been wanting this, needing it more than anything. 

Danse felt his eyes roll back, Bruce’s powerful grip on him and the way his cock hit a certain spot perfectly, and he felt himself swiftly reaching his climax. Bruce gave him a deep, longing kiss and he sighed languidly, “Am I making you feel good?” 

Danse chuckled, the sound vibrating their chests as they touched, and sighed laguidly, “Too good. I’m about to...ah-.” 

He moved his hips in time with Bruce as the two of them gripped each other tightly. Danse dragged his lips along Bruce’s jaw and he felt another wave of overpowering sensation hit him as Bruce came to a sudden, shuddering end inside of him. 

Danse dove after him, following him into that bright burst as he spilled over both of their chests and immediately fell limp. 

They laid down together, panting from the intense act, side by side while they shared in their afterglow. After a minute, once the fog in Danse’s mind cleared, his shame and the true consequences of his actions were able to reach him. 

Bruce reacted quickly when he heard the first soft sob from Danse. 

“Hey,” He pushed Danse’s arm away and caught a tear falling out of the corner of his eye on his thumb, gently wiping it away, “What’s wrong? Was I too rough?” 

Danse retreated into himself as his shoulders began to shake. 

“I shouldn’t have done that. I’m your commanding officer and your sponsor, and to... it flies in the face of every standard I’m held to,” He croaked, feeling simultaneously disgusted in himself and yearning to do it again. 

Bruce stroked his dark disheveled hair calmly, leaning on his elbow to comfort him, “This hasn’t changed who you are, Danse. You’re still a perfect soldier, and what we did wasn’t wrong.”

“Wasn’t wrong? Bruce, if anyone were to find out,” Danse trailed off and he felt Bruce’s hand reach for his face and gently stroke his cheek. “The Elders trusted me to conduct myself properly, but I just fraternized with my subordinate. I’d be demoted or worse.”

“I won’t let that happen.” He promised as he turned Danse’s head towards him by his chin. Bruce had a stern expression as his knuckles roamed along Danse’s jawline. 

It was an oddly calming gesture, one that Danse melted into easily. 

“Why would you defend me? You should be upset. What I did was way out of line and we could both get in trouble,” Danse closed his eyes, the intensity of Bruce’s gaze made him feel too much. He knew he should decisively end whatever it was they had here and now, but his heart couldn’t take it. 

Now that he’d gotten a taste, Danse never wanted to let go. 

“You’re worth it. I want to be close to you. Consequences be damned, I’ll keep our secret safe if you'll have me,” Bruce planted a soft kiss on his forehead and pulled him into a strong embrace that made Danse feel protected.


	10. Chapter 10

Promise kept, the two of them continued to find secret moments whenever they could, stealing kisses in private areas of the ship and sharing knowing glances as subtly as possible. Every now and then, when he was feeling brave, Danse would nudge his hand when no one was looking, and he would wrap his pinky finger around Bruce’s.

Finding time to do more than just barely touch was difficult, but Bruce was creative in creating ways to make it happen. 

Today, on such a lovely Spring day, he’d somehow gotten clearance to take a Vertibird out for a patrol, and to Danse’s surprise, he would be the pilot. 

“I didn’t know you could fly,” Danse remarked as they soared through the sky over downtown Boston, just the two of them. 

“Remember when you asked how I got here?” Bruce glanced at him with a soft, fond smile as he glimpsed the thrilled expression on his lover's face, “The people who took me in and raised me like their own taught me to fly. We used to do air raids on Drek nests.”

“You flew all the way here?” Danse looked at him with wide-eyed surprise. 

“That’s right,” Bruce smiled, almost smug with pride at the reaction he’d gotten out of Danse, “I crossed an entire ocean alone and in a piece of junk plane that nearly killed me on the way, but it was worth it. If I hadn’t, I would have never seen your smile.”

Danse rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t resist the smile that pulled at his lips. “You’re an incurable flirt, you know that?”

“I’m also terribly handsome, and I know you like it,” Bruce smirked devilishly. 

Danse chewed on his words, wondering why he felt so shy to say them, but he let them go after a moment, “Why don’t you land this bird and I’ll show you how much I like it, handsome.”

It felt like he’d let a heavy stone fall off his back. For Danse, it had been so long since he’d made any advances on anyone that speaking like that was an odd rush. He watched Bruce react to it, feeling his heart race as he placed a hand on Danses thigh and squeezed.

“You don’t have to ask me twice,” Immediately, Bruce got a mischievous idea, and he plunged them into a sudden nose dive over the water that startled Danse. He grinned, almost morbidly, as Danse yelled and clung harder to his harness.

Like a rollercoaster ride, Bruce gave them both a good thrill as he pulled up at just the right moment, leveling them out just above the river. He gently lowered the Vertibird, sinking until the craft made the water splash around them and form a mist. 

Danse, who had recovered from his shock and was now laughing, didn’t care that he became partially soaked as Bruce bobbed and weaved with expert precision past obstacles in the river. 

He had thought just flying was exhilarating, but this made him feel something entirely untouchable by words. 

“That was incredible,” He shouted as Bruce pulled the Vertibird up and returned to a normal flight pattern. “I’ve never felt so alive.”

“I seem to have a knack for getting your blood pumping, don’t I?” Bruce playfully teased as he picked a spot on the beach to land on where they could really have some fun. 

Once safely touched down, Danse undid his harness and quickly climbed into Bruce’s lap to kiss him. “I don’t think you understand what you really do to me. When we’re alone, it’s like my heart might burst. I know it’s wrong, but somehow it just feels right.”

Bruce groped his ass, squeezing tightly as his appetite for Danse consumed him. “We aren’t doing anything other than what comes natural and, speaking of, what are your next orders, Paladin?”

“I think you landed us in the perfect spot,” Danse allowed the wry smirk that formed on his lips to show as he sat back and looked at Bruce hungrily, “Always wondered if sex on the beach was as exciting as this one romance serial I watched made it seem.”

“It’s not,” Bruce chuckled, low in his chest, but he still guided Danse towards the water, “But for you, I’ll do anything you want.”

Indeed, despite their best efforts to lay out onto a blanket, they would still end up with grit in uncomfortable places, but Danse wouldn’t have changed a moment of it. 

Just the idea alone of doing this in such a public and open area made Danse feel something powerful. The risk alone of getting caught by onlookers made him slightly hesitant, but it didn’t seem to have the same effect on his body. 

By the time Bruce had laid out the blanket and got on his back, Danse was highly aware that he was straining almost painfully hard against the tight fitting suit. He almost too eagerly unzipped himself, straddling Bruce as he grinded on him. 

He quickly freed himself, letting the suit pool around his elbows as his cock sprung out and Bruce’s hand wrapped around it firmly to stroke at a mind-numbingly slow pace. 

For a moment, Danse closed his eyes and let his head lean back as he allowed himself to soak in the way his hand moved. He was sure he’d never get sick of being touched like this. 

“You make me feel so,” He tried, but there were no words. Danse settled for the next best thing, “Mollified. It’s like the entire world, all of our troubles, just melt away the moment you touch me.”

Bruce rolled him onto his back with ease, trying his best to make it as romantic as possible as he carefully laid him down. “I’ll do anything for you.”

They both slowly disrobed, in no hurry this time to make the moment end as the sun set with spectacular colors. 

Danse arched his back as Bruce wrapped his mouth around his cock, circling his tongue around the tip and tasting him. He turned his head to the side, arms stretching over his head to grip the blanket as he could feel the waves wash over his feet. 

With heart-aching gentleness, Bruce took the time to widen him with his rough fingers, moving at a rate that made him personally feel like he was pouring his soul into the attention he was giving Danse. 

“I want you,” Danse ran a hand through Bruce’s hair, tousling it into an appealingly unkempt shape, and he folded his arms around Bruce’s neck as he rose to meet him. 

Bruce angled his hips as he positioned himself in between Danses luscious thighs, and he could feel himself capsize into the tight warmth while they kissed. He very nearly blurted out a three word oath, but managed to keep it tied to his heart. 

In sync with the ebb and flow of the waves, Bruce held himself over Danse and watched as his steady stride took its pound of flesh. Danse became easily flustered, and his face turned a delightful shade of pink as he wanted even more.

“Harder, please,” Danse stuttered out, his moans practically flooding out of him as Bruce instantly granted his wish and he could feel his back mold into the pliant sand beneath him. 

Bruce buried his face in Danse’s neck, unable to handle the way the sounds coming from Danse seemed to take a fraction of him with every passing second. He knew he loved him, possibly even more than he’d ever loved anyone, and that broke him. 

It felt like more than just their bodies were touching when they were alone, and Bruce couldn’t get enough of it. 

Danse’s back arched sharply as his end came swiftly and unannounced, leaving him almost unconscious as Bruce met him while his fingertips made a mental map of every scar on Bruce’s back.

“You were right. There’s sand between my toes and I don’t like it,” Danse laughed with Bruce as they unsteadily sat up and tried to wash off some of the offending sand. 

“It’s in my buttcrack, so be grateful,” Bruce retorted with playful irritation.


	11. Chapter 11

Several months after joining the Brotherhood of Steel, Bruce had successfully and surprisingly climbed through the ranks from Knight to Paladin, but his original mission had only just begun. 

While he had been continuously gathering intel on the Brotherhood and their movements, rumor spread quickly that The General of the Minutemen had successfully infiltrated the Institute and returned in one piece to the shock of the entire Commonwealth. 

Elder Maxson himself begrudgingly admitted it was an impressive feat, but the only thing he had on his mind was how The General had done it and what he had learned from his brief time in the Institute. 

Some time earlier that week, the Brotherhood had tried to take that information by force. The Minutemen had been a thorn in their side from the very moment the Brotherhood landed in the Commonwealth, viciously protecting their farms when Brotherhood soldiers arrived to collect food and supplies. 

A bloody clash had been inevitable. 

Maxson was beyond enraged once he discovered that a decent sized battalion had been cleanly wiped off the board by glorified farmer’s toting weapons after they mounted an attack on the Minutemen headquarters, The Castle.

He was now prepared to retaliate, but his tactics would have to change if he wanted to know how The General had gotten into the one place the Brotherhood was trying to destroy.

“Wake up, Paladin,” a terse, irritated voice woke Bruce in the middle of the night with a jolt and he looked around for the origin of the sound frantically. At the foot of the bed, stood menacingly, was Maxson himself. “Come with me.” 

As quick as his sleep addled limbs would allow, he hopped out of bed and reached for his uniform and boots, but Maxson barked an order for him to leave them. Bruce could feel his heart pounding in his chest. 

This was it, he thought.

He felt like he’d been caught as a spy, or the Elder had somehow discovered his ongoing relationship with Danse, and now who knows what would happen to him. After what the Minutemen did, Bruce knew Maxson wasn’t in the mood for mercy. 

Following behind with unsteady balance, he looked around the half-dark room as the many open eyes of supposedly sleeping figures watched him pass. It reminded him of the first time he’d stepped foot into a dark cave to kill his first ‘drek’. The many glowing eyes piercing him with fear he hadn’t ever felt again until now. 

Maxson led Bruce to the forecastle platform and stood right where he and Danse had been not long ago. 

“I have a mission of the utmost importance for you. One that could mean life or death.” Maxson turned, unfazed by the freezing wind.“You are to infiltrate the Minutemen, find out what they know about the Institute, and return here successfully by any means possible.” 

Bruce felt like he could be knocked off his feet with a gentle push from the surprise. “That’s impossible-”

Before he could even form the full sentence in his mouth, Maxson had grabbed him by the front of his shirt and lifted him up with impossible strength in one swift movement. Bruce floundered as his feet naturally sought purchase when they left the ground. 

His hands gripped desperately onto Maxson’s outstretched arm as he was slowly bent backwards over the rail. Bruce didn’t dare look down at the thirty-story drop below him. 

He opened his mouth to ask what Maxson was, because his strength wasn’t human, but that question never made it to his lips as Maxson’s other hand clasped his neck like a vice. 

“I'm in no mood for dissent, soldier. I only want to hear you say two words. Anything else, I will find someone less expendable.” He held the choking hand on Bruce for twenty excruciating seconds before relaxing his grip. 

Bruce sputtered and coughed out a shaky, “Yes, sir.” 

Maxson considered him with cold, hateful eyes for a moment longer and then deposited Bruce on the platform carelessly.

“Excellent. You have three days. Do not disappoint me.” His parting words dripped with malice. 

Bruce, tears streaming down his cheeks in steady rivulets and still sputtering for air, managed to wait for Maxson to be out of sight before the terror truly set in. 

He was unable to convince himself this time that he needed to keep it together and sobbed uncontrollably, feeling like a child again, lost in an unfamiliar place with no one and nothing to help him. 

For the first time in years, and now for the third time,, he feared he was going to lose everything all over again. 

Bruce remained on the floor, pulling himself into as tight of a ball his large frame would allow, and he tried to picture the look on Danse’s face when he had promised to keep their secret safe. 

The look of hopeful surprise in those soft, brown eyes. 

He wasn’t even sure if Danse loved him as much as Bruce loved him, but that didn’t matter. Bruce could’ve gone his entire life riding the high he felt seeing Danse look at him like that. 

That all came crashing down around him.

If he failed Maxson, he knew he wouldn’t live to regret it. 

If he betrayed the Railroad and the Minutemen, he would never be able to live with himself. 

Either way, he would lose Danse.


	12. Chapter 12

There was no chance of sleep that night, so Bruce collected what he would need and left a letter explaining why he might never return for Danse under the door to his personal quarters. He delayed, staring at the gap, before turning on his heel to leave. 

Danse was away on a confidential mission, and by the time he was supposed to return Bruce knew it would be too late.

Hopefully, Gabriel would be able to help him, but he doubted it would be an easy task.

His stomach lurched as he heard the door open behind him and a gentle, sleepy voice beckoned him, “Bruce? What is it?” 

He spun around to face Danse, who held the letter in one hand, and looked as if he had just gotten out of bed. Without another moment’s hesitation Bruce stormed over and pushed Danse back inside, slamming and locking the door behind him. 

Dropping his duffle bag unceremoniously, Bruce pulled Danse close to hold him in a rigid, tremor filled embrace. 

Still reeling from the unexpected and crushing hug, Danse didn’t move beyond turning his head towards Bruce’s, “What’s wrong?” 

Bruce shook his head, his words trapped in his chest, and he hid his tortured expression by burying it deep into Danse’s neck as his shoulders began to shake. 

“Talk to me, please,” He gave Bruce a look of profound concern. “I can’t help if I don’t know how.”

Danse waited until Bruce pulled away just enough for their eyes to meet, mere inches apart. 

Bruce sniffed softly, regaining his composure, and used the back of his hand to wipe his eyes, “Thought I’d never see you again.” 

“Is that all? I just got back in. Thought it was too late to wake you up.” Danse was hyper aware of Bruce’s hands resting tenderly on his back, feeling the warmth blossom from them, and his face flushed with heat. 

Their chests touched and he could feel Bruce’s heart thundering. 

“I didn’t realize you would miss me that badly,” Danse, feeling flustered, shyly glanced away. It meant the world to him that Bruce cared so deeply for him, but he still felt unworthy of the affection. 

“Anytime we’re apart I feel like I’m missing a piece of myself,” Bruce reached up and stroked his jawline lovingly.

He wanted to kiss Bruce, badly, feeling that familiar ache in his core. That stormy night and the many other times they’d kiss since then replayed over and over in his mind while he was away.

Infuriatingly, it wasn’t as easy to get what he wanted as expected as he had to stand on his toes just to reach Bruce, but luckily that was just a temporary setback. He allowed Bruce to lift him up, fingers spread wide to dig into the flesh on his backside. 

Bruce was beaming at Danse like a man who had just seen the sun for the first time after spending years in the dark. 

“I’ve missed you too. It’s risky but... I could show you how much, if you’d like?” Danse gestured with a nod towards the wall and Bruce eagerly heeded the prompt, practically slamming his body against it. 

A gasp escaped Danse’s lips upon landing, back planted firmly against cold steel and his legs twisting around his partner’s hips. He could easily notice through both of their clothes just how ready Bruce was to take him. 

He uttered a throaty curse under his breath at the simple act of Bruce readjusting and pressing harder against him. Bruce teased further, tickling the skin on Danse’s neck with his coarse beard hair, his groping hands finding all the right places. 

Any more and Danse felt like he was going to go primal and rip Bruce’s clothes from his body to get what he wanted.

His instincts to take command seized control and he began to ply Bruce into action with rough, commanding kisses. Bruce effortlessly melted, like warm honey, while Danse touched back down to the ground. 

He spun Bruce around to face the wall, roughly seizing Bruce’s arm behind his back with one hand and held him by the shoulder to slightly bend him over with the other. Danse pushed Bruce’s feet apart until their hips were level and he nudged his weight into Bruce’s rear, hoping the message was clear. 

It was his turn. 

“Don’t go easy on me,” Bruce’s voice was soft and restrained. He was casually aware of the cool feel of metal on his cheek as Danse grinded him against the wall and felt his breath hitch as he imagined Danse taking him like this with unmerciful force. 

Danse slowly reached around and unzipped Bruce’s uniform to it’s limit, planting his lips in strategic spots as Bruce’s back became exposed. He relished the small noises each touch produced as his hand sought them out by evading clothing until his palm met smooth skin. 

Bruce’s back arched lightly and he sucked his breath in as Danse moved to stroke his cock through his underwear agonizingly slow. 

“Teasing me, huh?” He looked back at Danse with some effort. Their eyes were locked as Danse tightened his grip and Bruce felt all of his composure vanish. He was happily helpless now, unable to think about anything other than feeling like this forever. 

“Get on the bed,” Danse uttered with a husky tone and he began wrenching the rest of their clothing off with Bruce’s cooperation, desperate to be as close as physically possible. 

Enthusiastically, Bruce followed orders and collapsed onto his back with a lavished smile pulling at the corners of his parted mouth. He waited for Danse with a hungry looking anticipation.

Danse had been almost surprised to discover he wasn’t the only one who was touch-starved, but it was flattering to know his touch was wanted so badly. He’d never been so infatuated quite like this before, but it felt as though they were meant to be together. 

“I want you, Danse,” Bruce rolled onto his stomach, completely unaware he had said that in his native tongue, and he looked over his shoulder alluringly.

He straddled Bruce, spreading his thighs and lifting his hips to align as he leaned forward to kiss Bruce’s shoulders. His hand moved in between them, finding the right spot and carefully sliding one finger inside. Danse was meticulous in his work, making it so that Bruce wouldn’t feel too much pain.

Bruce sighed heavily as Danse generously massaged him. He gripped the sheets and closed his eyes, allowing Danse all the time he needed. Finally, after a blissful eternity, Danse guided his cock to replace his fingers.

His entire body felt electrified and Bruce caved inwards when he heard Danse moaning his name longingly. Danse buried his face in Bruce’s back as the constricting warmth practically wiped out every other thought on his mind, one hand gripping Bruce’s hip with powerful strength and the other shakily balancing his weight on the bed. 

Every worry Danse had previously was easily overwhelmed by the powerful rush of pleasure that came with every needy stroke. He felt like he could shatter to pieces at any moment. 

Bruce’s heavy moans synced in time with the unbroken pace and Danse untangled his fist from the covers to clutch onto Bruce’s hips with both hands, fingertips digging into firm muscle. He pulled Bruce into him until the smack of flesh on flesh and their moans matched in volume. 

Being caught by how loud they were alone was no longer a factor Danse could consider. 

Bruce rolled onto his back abruptly and tangled his fingers into Danse’s dark, messy hair. He took a fistful and pulled Danse’s head back to suck on the hollow in his neck and Danse’s spine arched sharply as he winced through his teeth. 

“Too hard?” Bruce groaned as he dragged his tongue over the fresh bruise he’d made with his mouth. 

Danse, feeling his muddled voice come out softly, replied, “You’re going to have to try a lot harder than that to hurt me.” 

Bruce wanted to be as close as possible, needing to hear every tiny sound that escaped from Danse’s lips, and he guided him back inside as he wrapped his thighs around Danse. 

Lowering himself until he could bury his face in Bruce’s neck, Danse left a bruise of his own, dimly noticing that there were already a few fingertip sized marks just under his jaw.

“What happened to you here?” Danse dragged his lips over the spot softly as he continued thrusting his hips. He hoped they weren’t what his jealousy thought they were, trusting Bruce entirely. 

“Hand to hand combat exercise,” Bruce lied through his teeth, unsure of how to tell Danse that Maxson had abused him. He wanted to forget it had ever happened, but all he could do was to let Danse distract him. “I got choked out, but I’ll be fine.”

Danse’s reply made him feel incredibly loved, “I’ll have them reprimanded. The only one who should be allowed to mark you is me, and only out of affection.”

He leaned to kiss Bruce, pouring his feelings into one simple gesture as their lips met with aching tenderness. Bruce gasped softly when Danse sat up to pulled his legs up and folded him until he reached his limit as he put more strength into his stride.

Bruce gripped the bed for purchase as shockwaves of pleasure utterly demolished him. Danse murmured between clenched teeth that he was getting close and he smothered the bellow that burst out of himself as their lips collided roughly, teeth clicking. 

Bruce shuddered, full body, and he screwed his eyes shut as Danse’s name slipped off his tongue and marked the moment of his intoxicating end. Danse followed not long after, left panting and vibrating upon release. 

He spread himself over Bruce, ignoring the mess of sweat and fluid mingling between their skin. 

“As always, that was just what I needed,” Bruce choked out, his hand idly stroking the curves of muscle on Danse’s back. He felt slightly better about his mission now, but the fear was still palpable.

“Are you aware you babble in Russian? In between moans, you say things I can’t understand. It’s actually rather endearing,” Danse said after he finally caught his breath. 

Bruce could feel the muscles in his face pull into a smile as he realized he must have thought he was speaking English, but had been too carried away to notice, “Is that right?”

“Indeed,” Danse lifted his head and looked at Bruce with content, “I hear it more often when you’re asleep, a few times it’s happened while you were drunk, and just now you said something when you laid on the bed. I heard my name, so I hope it was good.” 

Bruce chuckled and ran a hand over Danse’s cheek, “I said, ‘I want you, Danse’.”

Danse rested his head again on Bruce’s chest and he pressed his ear close to hear his heartbeat. “I still don’t understand why you’re risking everything to be with me.” 

His hand traced over the brand on Bruce’s chest. He’d already been through so much and it just didn’t make sense for Bruce to put his career on the line like this. If they were caught, they would both go down. 

“Stop beating yourself up,” Bruce rested his hand over Danse’s shoulder, “I do feel a little sorry for you, though., because you’re stuck with me.” 

Danse couldn’t resist the fond smile that grew his face.


	13. Chapter 13

Regret loomed over Danse the moment he opened his eyes the next morning. He remained motionless, wrestling with the complicated state of mind he was in, hoping last night had just been a vivid dream while also wanting to roll over and see Bruce lying next to him.

He told himself it was incredibly selfish of him to want Bruce like this, and yet a part of him was almost dying to continue this affair. Just for him. For the way he felt when Bruce held him. 

“Bruce,” Danse inhaled deeply, readying himself to do something he didn’t want to do. He couldn’t ruin Bruce’s career over something like this and he refused to continue ignoring the risks no matter how badly he wanted to repeat last night’s events. 

Bruce would have to recover from the heartbreak, but Danse felt sure they would be better off if this ended here and now. 

“I think we-” He reluctantly turned to see that no one was there. 

Danse scanned the room for signs, but other than the letter laying on the pillow where Bruce’s head had rested last night, there was no trace of him. 

He sighed unsteadily, feeling panic similar to the moment’s before leading a charge on the front lines of battle. A voice in his head screamed at him to reconsider leaving Bruce, but he reinforced his conviction. 

Danse closed his eyes, a rogue tear slipping across his cheek, as he prepared to make this difficult decision. One he was incapable of making the first time and every subsequent moment after. If he loved Bruce as much as he thought he did, this was for the best. 

He left the letter behind for now, trying not to let it’s contents sway his resolve, and Danse started in the mess hall, but when Bruce was not in his usual seat a feeling of unease began to trickle in. He checked in all of the familiar locations, then the places Bruce never liked to be, until finally he was searching every man-sized space in distress. 

Bruce had seemingly vanished, and Danse knew he wasn’t scheduled for a mission at the moment. 

Danse rushed back to his quarters, ignoring the curious stares, when he remembered the letter. He tore open the contents and began to pace back and forth as the message unfolded. 

Bruce loved him. 

More than anything, he wrote, and that’s why if he survived this secret mission he was going to do everything he could to be with Danse even if that meant being removed from the Brotherhood. The letter went on to explain he couldn’t share any details, only that the chances of survival were slim.

Danse collapsed onto the bed, his watering eyes making it difficult to read further past the line saying, ‘we could run away and live in a cottage by the sea, maybe get a dog, and a warm fireplace I can lay you near.’ 

Tears dropped heavily onto the page, smudging the ink on the poorly drawn image of what Danse assumed was the home Bruce envisioned. A smile briefly broke the storm and Danse tried to laugh so the despair he felt would shake off, but his chuckle quickly dissolved into the desperate sobs.


	14. Chapter 14

Bruce changed into the clothes he’d worn the day he met Danse, surprised Haylen hadn’t burned them, after he got far enough away from the Prydwen. He placed his neatly folded uniform in an empty ammo box and then hid that box under a rusted blue van. 

Only Gabriel, Deacon, and Desdemona knew who he was before he became a spy for them, so he hoped that the Minutemen wouldn’t know he was a Brotherhood soldier and raise the alarm. 

He nervously brushed his hand over his standard issue Brotherhood haircut, buzzed on the sides so close you could see his skull, and immediately thought about Danse. His hair was the softest thing Bruce had ever laid his grubby hands on. 

Bruce kicked himself to keep moving. 

“Gabe’s gonna be pissed,” He mumbled to himself, shifting his duffle bag from one shoulder to the other, “He’ll laugh, sure, but this will piss him off.” 

Once reaching the gates of the Castle, Bruce felt his eyes wander from place to place in awe as he saw it for the first time. He hadn’t gotten a chance after leaving Far Harbor, having spent years in self imposed exile until Gabriel found him and asked him to use his past experience to help the Minutemen. 

Every foot of the town leading up to the Minutemen headquarters was buzzing with life, settlers and traders carrying on about their daily routines without a care, but the impressive fortifications that kept the citizens safe paled in comparison to the fort itself. 

Bruce saw more soldiers actively training than he ever had while on the Prydwen. Units were jogging, swimming in the small insulated pond, and running obstacle courses outside, while other individuals worked on continuously repairing the overall structure. 

Seeing all of this, he came to the conclusion that Gabe must have a strict ‘no slacking' rule, either that or he had miraculously found some really dedicated people out there in the wastes. 

At the gate, he was stopped by a man in full uniform holding a clipboard, “Well howdy there, settler, trader, or recruit?” 

Bruce gave a gruff response, “Recruit.”. 

“Excellent. You’re in luck. The General likes to meet each new recruit personally, and he just so happens to be in today. Follow me, uh….” The man gestured to Bruce expectantly. 

“Andrei,” He muttered, chewing the inside of his cheek nervously, and took the man’s hand to shake it. Thankfully, joining the ranks of the Minutemen seemed easier than he had originally thought. 

Bruce followed behind, letting his eyes take in the sights around him. 

In the central courtyard, there was a simple building attached to the radio tower, but surrounding that was a vibrant garden park. A statue to the East depicted three soldiers carrying weapons and from where he was Bruce could see the plaque underneath that listed several names. Dozens of lit candles and objects left by loved ones littered the monument. 

Off to one side, as they turned the corner, he saw the cozy little open air diner serving ice cold drinks and cooking something that smelled so amazing his stomach growled at him. . 

“This is nice,” He blurted, unable to contain himself. 

“Oh yes, The General planted that garden himself. Took him weeks. Isn’t it lovely?” Bruce cringed a little at the man’s strangely cheery tone. Maybe it was just that he wasn’t used to someone being so happy after having spent several months surrounded by insufferable meatheads.

Every Brotherhood soldier acted like a rod was shoved up their asses, and even Danse behaved the same way unless they were alone. Then, sweetly, he would soften just for Bruce and him alone.

“Here we are, help yourself to refreshments while I notify the General,” The man opened a large wooden door leading to an office with vaulted ceilings on the far Easterly side of the Castle. 

Bruce waited for a few minutes, listening to the sounds in the distance. Lively voices and music playing from a radio, seagulls screeching, and the sound of waves crashing on the shore mere feet beyond the thick, stone walls entombing him. 

He thought of that day he spent on the beach with Danse, recalling with a smirk that the shower afterwards was tense with sexual energy. They couldn’t touch each other with others around, but Bruce knew just by looking at him what Danse was imagining as they glanced at each other under individual showerheads. 

His dark, coffee colored eyes gazing at Bruce with such affection. 

Finally, he heard the distinct ‘thump click’ of Gabriel’s gait as he arrived. His solid metal prosthetic leg always giving him away whenever he approached. 

“Bruce!” Gabriel rushed up close with an expression filled with joy and parental concern. He nearly knocked Bruce and the chair he sat in over as he pulled him up into a rib-fracturing bear hug. “Hijo de puto!” 

Bruce felt a joint pop as Gabe gave one last squeeze before he was deposited back into the chair, “I was worried about you! No message, no sign, nothing. When the Brotherhood tried to take the Castle I worried you had been there and I had to check every dead body!” 

Bruce felt genuine shame, as if his own father was chiding him for coming home after curfew. 

“What’s goin’ down? I heard our boy Bruce is here.” A third voice entered the conversation as Deacon appeared seemingly out of thin air. 

“Bruce is alive.” Gabe shouted triumphantly. 

“I see that, but he’s here and we haven’t gotten any dead drops since we sent him in.” Deacon, his eyes obscured by his signature sunglasses, stroked his chin thoughtfully, “Now he shows up days after we got blitzed, and with THAT haircut?” 

Bruce rolled his eyes as Deacon added with a pretend serious tone, “I bet that puckered asshole Maxson sent him here to spy on us.” 

Deacon and Gabe laughed together, clearly thinking the idea was so ridiculous that it was impossible.

“Actually,” Bruce trailed off, watching their expressions fall, before he divulged everything. 

The planned raids. How Maxson must be cybernetically enhanced judging by his inhuman strength, which made him a vicious hypocrite and even the secret weapon being developed to destroy the Institute. 

“They call it Liberty Prime. I don’t know what it is but as far as I know they can’t get the damn thing working, so we got that going for us.” Bruce sighed after finishing, feeling a load lifted from his tense shoulders. 

Gabriel wore a rare and stony, serious expression. The color drained from his face as he muttered, “I know what Liberty Prime is. It’s a walking, talking, twelve story tall, nuke launching ‘fuck you’ to the entire world. U.S Army was going to deploy the damn thing to Anchorage, but we never got to see it in action.” 

The room grew as silent as a mausoleum. 

Bruce had entirely forgotten that Gabriel had been frozen for the past two hundred years and he was an honest to goodness pre-war relic. It somewhat explained how the Minutemen held their own so well. That old world military discipline spreads a long way. 

“So,” Deacon extended the word until his lips pursed and he folded his fingers into a steeple before pointing them at Bruce, “We’re all gonna die?” 

“That’s not all,” Bruce rested his elbows on his knees, “Maxson wants whatever you found in the Institute. Pretty sure he’s going to kill me if I don’t deliver.” 

Tension filled the room, everyone waiting with bated breath for the punchline that wasn’t coming. 

“We have no choice.” Gabriel glanced at Deacon to give him a reassuring nod, but Deacon buried his face in his hands as if this was yet another bad idea in a long series from Gabe. “How long do you have?” 

Bruce shrugged meekly, shaking his head, “He said three days, but it might as well be just two now.”

Gabriel tapped the table with his knuckles, his other hand glued to his gray haired dusted temple in deep concentration. “I need you to go back. We need to know how ready their doomsday weapon is, but I can’t just give you a copy of the network scan we took.” 

Deacon lifted his head and the two of them seemed to have a short, mental discussion before Gabriel continued, “We can, however, alter as much info we can. Just enough to throw the Brotherhood off.” 

“They’ll catch on eventually,” Bruce immediately panicked, “I mean most of them are just dumbass bootlickers, but once the scribes start seeing slip ups, they’ll know, and that will cost me my life.” 

When he had signed up for this, his life mattered little to him, but now he had just one thing to cling to, and Bruce wanted to fight tooth and nail to keep Danse. 

Gabriel nodded to Deacon who promptly stood up and jogged out of the room. 

“They won’t have time to notice. Right now, as we speak, I’m having my good buddy, the mayor of Goodneighbor, throw Brotherhood supplies into the harbor. Most of Diamond City is protesting the unfair tariffs they got placed on them, and I don’t know a single farmer or trader who appreciates having their food and water ‘seized’,” He paused to light a thick cigar.

Continuing, Gabriel blew smoke out of his nostrils, “The massacre of fifteen innocent settlers is still fresh on the Commonwealth’s mind and we’re now looking at a full-blown war here.” 

Gabriel leaned forward, and finally Bruce could see the keen spark of a brilliant and formidable tactician that Gabe hid so well behind that goofy smile. “I’m sorry I can’t give you more time, but I just need you to stay low, find out what you can, and trust me.” 

Bruce nodded, but he wasn’t completely sold. He knew Gabriel would do everything in his power to make sure this went smoothly, having been the first person in years who seemed to give a damn about Bruce and his well-being, but Maxson wasn’t an idiot. 

All it would take was one mistake, one hair out of line, and Gabriel would be miles away, unable to help Bruce. 

Bruce cursed under his breath as he crossed the garden towards the diner. Gabriel had let him go with a reassurance that he had an expert on the case, but Bruce highly suspected that ‘expert' was Tinker Tom. 

“Tinker fucking Tom,” Bruce spat, lost in thought as he kept walking, “The guy who said Russians are from Jupiter. I’m so screwed.”

“What can I get you stranger?” The woman tending the bar snapped him out of his bitter spiral and he chewed the inside of his cheek. The action was a nervous tick he got when he tried not to imagine the worst, and he hadn’t done it in ages, but now he’d almost made himself raw in just one day. 

“Cold beer, and uh…” He glanced at the menu behind her, squinting at the strange new word he saw before pronouncing it slowly, “Burger?”

Bruce went to bed later that night, feeling a bit better, but his rest was fitful. 

Despite having tasted his first ever ‘burger’ and finding it to be the best food he’d ever had, it wasn’t good enough to distract him from the more important thing. If this worked, he may be able to save his neck. 

He closed his eyes and dreamed about holding Danse again.


	15. Chapter 15

The deafening gunshot made Bruce’s ears ring. He felt the ground and sky pivot as he careened backwards before he even registered the impact. 

Someone screamed, like a hurt animal that knew it was going to die, seemingly from somewhere in the far distance. 

Bruce knew, inwardly, that the sound had in truth come from himself. He couldn’t fight the sharp pain spreading in his gut like wildfire long enough to complete a single thought. 

Only images flashed in his mind. His mind darted from the moment he was branded to every adrenaline fuelled brush with death. 

The mines. His wife’s sunny face. Drekavacs. Danse. 

Bruce recoiled violently as his hand absent-mindedly touched the fresh wound lying below his heart and his finger briefly protruded into the deep gouge. A voice was speaking to him, but he couldn’t hear anything beyond his own ragged breathing. 

He turned his head away, vision blurring like muddy water. He was faintly aware that his own blood was pooling warmly under his body. It felt almost like sinking into a hot bath. The pain was a dull throb now and his chest grew cold. 

Danse would be safe, though, and that’s all that mattered to him now. 

Bruce closed his eyes, the last moments of consciousness spent picturing the details of Danse’s beautiful face.


	16. Chapter 16

Just days earlier, Bruce was practically racing to give Elder Maxson the holotape containing the modified network scan of the Institute. Barging through the door to the command deck, he interrupted a conversation between the Elder and Captain Kells. 

“This is absolutely unacceptable,” Kells, without missing a beat, barked at Bruce, “I demand-” 

“That will be all, Captain,” Maxson interrupted him, “We will continue this conversation later.” 

Captain Kells was loud, but Elder Maxson was louder. Kells snapped his feet to attention and performed a sharp salute, “Yes, Elder.” 

He left the room without hesitation. 

“Paladin, approach,” There was a bite in his tone that terrified Bruce. 

Remembering the last time Maxson had revealed himself as a malicious man willing to do anything to get what he wanted, Bruce was hesitant to proceed. 

He patted his pocket, checking for the hundredth time that the holotape was still there, and he cautiously approached. If Maxson wanted to, he could very easily take the holotape and simply fling Bruce like a ragdoll off the ship. 

He bit the inside of his cheek and held out the small rectangular chunk of plastic that could mean the difference between ending up a splat on the ground or a man on borrowed time. 

Elder Maxson momentarily looked between Bruce and the object in his hand without a single facial muscle twitching and Bruce gritted his teeth in apprehension. The image of his body landing with a sickening thud on the pavement, becoming nothing more than a puddle of gore, crossed his mind repetitively.

To Bruce’s slightened relief, Maxson finally took the holotape, turning it over as if inspecting it for obvious flaws. 

“This is it, then?” Those words, filled with sceptical disdain, nearly made Bruce crack. He reflexively looked away, expecting any moment now to feel wind rushing past him.

“Excellent work,” He felt Maxson pat his shoulder in congratulations. “Just that easy? The Minutemen must let just anyone into their ranks.” 

Bruce blinked repeatedly to see Maxson smiling almost lovingly at the small object. He let out a much too loud nervous laugh and nodded at Maxson vigorously. 

“Yes, sir,” Bruce smiled apprehensively, his frazzled mind desperately using humor to mask his uneasiness, “They nearly promoted me to Sergeant.” 

The Elder scrutinized him for weakness, looking him up and down pointedly, before he chuckled lightly. Maxson pocketed the holotape and stood in an at ease position, “Very good. Speaking of promotions.” 

He dipped his chin at Bruce. 

Luckily, Bruce caught the que and he stood at attention. 

“I’m awarding you the title of Sentinel,” Maxson smiled affably, as if he were handing out generous prizes to the needy, “Months ago when you joined our ranks, I was completely uncertain of your ability, and I’ve had my suspicions, but it’s clear now where loyalty lies.”

He paused theatrically. 

“Later in the evening, I would like to invite you to see what will win the war for the Brotherhood. Meet me on the flight deck at sixteen hundred hours. Understood?” He looked at Bruce expectantly.

Bruce had a bad feeling that this thing that would ‘win the war’ was Liberty Prime, and that it was somehow in working order in the short time that had passed while he was gone. 

He nodded at first before catching himself in his slip, then uttered a short, “Yessir.” 

Once free from Elder Maxon’s cold, dictatorial presence, Bruce was like a bloodhound with a scent. He honed in on Danse on pure instinct alone, finding him in the Power Armor bay tinkering with his suit. 

“Danse,” His involuntarily loud volume echoed in the large space and alerted everyone in the room. 

Heads eagerly turned, expecting an altercation of some kind. 

Danse stood too quickly, smacking the top of his head on the closed fist of his suit, and he rubbed the new sore spot as he scrambled towards Bruce. 

“Bruce,” He uttered his name softly as if any louder and it would break. 

They both flinched when they almost got too close, realizing quickly the impulse to embrace would give them away. 

“I heard you were promoted, congratulations, Sentinel,” Danse smiled at him, attempting to hide the deeply fond pride he felt and not openly appear too infatuated, but he failed miserably. 

“You heard?” Bruce twisted his face in confusion. He’d only just been promoted moments ago, but it seemed word traveled fast. 

“We should talk,” Danse insisted as he grabbed a rag and wiped it across his sweat glistened forehead and promptly led them to somewhere private.

Bruce felt incredibly calmed as he watched Danse pat the sweat off of his skin with the rag as he followed him. Such a simple gesture, but it was eye-catching for Bruce. 

Danse came to a stop and sat down at the edge of an empty Vertibird dock while Bruce chose to stand, leaning on the rails and looking out over the cityscape of downtown Boston with him. 

“I’m glad you’re back,” Danse began after they sat in tense silence for a minute. 

Bruce glanced down, trying not to make it obvious that he hoped someday he could openly show his love for Danse as he jealously watched the wind tossle his dark hair. After what he had gone through, all Bruce wanted to do for comfort was make Danse feel loved.

“This is… difficult for me to say, so I hope you’ll bear with me as I try to get through it.” Danse began, clearly struggling, and Bruce wished he could hold him as he fought.

“What we have? It goes against Brotherhood standards. You outrank me now, but that doesn’t change the fact that we should have never created the conflict of interest we did when I was your sponsor.” Danse had to look away, almost choking on his own words.

Bruce felt his stomach drop. 

“I know it’s wrong. It goes against everything I’ve ever been taught. I’ve always followed every order, every tenant. I must be crazy, or insubordinate,” Danse quickly wiped his eyes so that Bruce wouldn’t notice his tears, “Then you entered my life, creating a perfect wedge between my duties and my desires, and I couldn’t say no.” 

He shifted where he sat, covertly placing a hand on Bruce’s booted foot. “After that first night, I was going to put an end to it. I was going to tell you it was over. I didn’t want you to throw away your life for a relationship that couldn’t happen.” 

Bruce closed his eyes, letting the wind caress his face as he listened to Danse’s voice tremble. The sound of paper rustling caught his attention. 

“Then I saw this and-,” Danse's voice was suffocated by sadness. 

Bruce looked down to see the letter he'd wrote.

“I know, the two of us, we’re willing to lay down our lives for what’s right, but I can’t help but want to be with you even though I know we would be denied,” He felt somewhat ridiculous, falling apart like this so easy. For the longest time he thought it was just battle fatigue, but now he knew it was also because he had desperately fallen for Bruce and he had no idea how to act now. 

In disjointed segments, he tried to explain that to Bruce, but he couldn’t find the right words. 

Bruce squatted down as Danse sputtered out an apology, 

“S-sorry, I’m… not m-making sense.” His shaky voice stuttered as he fought back the sobs.

He felt Bruce’s arm, thick and strong like an oak tree’s limb, wrap over his shoulders as he gently shushed him, “You have nothing to apologize for. Love is never something to be ashamed of, and you show me that every time we’re together. It’s one of the many reasons why I love you so much.” 

Danse stared at Bruce wide-eyed, lips slightly parted, “Love? So you really meant it...in your letter?” 

“With all of my heart,” Bruce leaned to kiss him. 

Their heartfelt moment was abruptly cut short by a vertibird coming in for landing. 

Danse hurriedly stood and moved away several paces to clear the way before looking back at Bruce, then at the Vertibird, and Bruce again with an idea blooming in his head. 

Bruce raised an eyebrow at him, noticing the expression, and he smirked deviously, “What are you thinking?” 

“Meet me back here in ten minutes,” Danse’s eyes lit up with eager excitement before he practically raced to collect what he would need.


	17. Chapter 17

Ten minutes later, on the dot, Bruce and Danse were set to make a quick ‘sweep and clear of nearby hostiles’. It was utterly normal for soldiers to run off every now and then and go rough up some settlers to blow off steam, and so the beleaguered pilot didn’t bother to question them. 

They were dropped off not far, near Gibson Point Pier, with a wholly different plan on their minds. Taking their time before the inevitable, they spent some time simply enjoying each other’s presence and catching up.

On the rooftop of an old diner, Bruce dropped his duffle bag and explained his last mission in minimal detail to Danse as he assembled the new gauss rifle he’d been given by the Minutemen. 

“Fascinating, I assumed they primarily used laser muskets. It’s apparent that the Minutemen, if they possess weapons like this, are more of a threat than expected.” Danse studied the weapon, collecting it’s details voraciously. 

Bruce didn’t have a reply, as he simply wanted to listen to Danse talk without getting into a debate over the Minutemen ‘menace’. He laid out on his stomach and adjusted the beastly, large weapons scope, tinkering with it until his view of the nearby shoreline was crystal clear. 

“Got something you can throw to rouse the wildlife?” He called back to Danse, who turned to pick up a piece of debris. 

“Ready when you are,” Danse replied. 

Bruce hand signaled and Danse lobbed the decent sized chunk of metal towards the ocean. Four Mirelurks appeared, searching for the disturbance and Bruce aimed to kill. With shots that left behind a faint blue glow, he took them out before they could even reach the shore.

“Impressive,” Danse whispered close to Bruce’s ear, as he felt like teasing him, “For an ‘old’ man.” 

It had become an inside joke that, despite only being only years apart in their thirties, Bruce was a cranky geriatric and Danse was his much younger counterpart. Often, it was entirely harmless, but in cases like now it worked to incite competitive action. 

Bruce pushed the gun away and rolled onto his back, snagging Danse down on top of his body, “I’ll show you what this ‘old man’ can do.” 

They kissed roughly, wrestling with each other to see who would come out on top this time. For a moment, as they grappled and rolled around, it looked like it would be a stalemate, but Danse stole the upperhand.

Danse mounted Bruce and grinded rhythmically in an attempt to fluster him. It seemed to do the trick as Bruce moaned into Danse’s mouth, his hands groping firmly onto Danse’s backside. 

He sat upright to take in the smoldering look on Bruce’s face. 

“I don’t know why, but there’s something about being with you that makes me feel so...fragile and invulnerable at the same time,” He leaned again to gently graze his lips over Bruces, “How do you do that?”

He breathed out a languid sigh as Bruce squeezed his hips hungrily. That was his way of saying ‘show, don't tell’. 

Even as rain clouds grayed the sky and began to trickle on them, Bruce and Danse laid there for a bit longer groping and kissing each other. When they could no longer ignore the weather threatening to soak them to the bone, Danse reluctantly stood, helping Bruce up with heft, and they retreated indoors. 

They took the time to decide on a spot, selecting a part of the floor that wasn’t completely filthy before Bruce dropped his partially damp overcoat on the ground to act as a buffer. Any other circumstance, Danse might complain, but watching Bruce undress made it impossible for him to care about anything else. 

Danse took the time to observe, wanting to collect as much detail as his eyes could. His lover was beautiful, every single inch of him appealing to look at. Danse noted that even his scars were somehow irresistible. 

Bruce was equally appreciative as he watched Danse peel his clothes off. “You’re gorgeous, you know that?” 

Danse felt his face bloom with heat as he glanced to the side, still not used to receiving compliments like that. He’d never considered himself ugly, Danse knew he was conventionally attractive, but he was too modest to accept praise for his appearance gracefully.

“You’re too sweet. I’m not that special,” He felt Bruce come closer, hooking one finger under Danses chin to lead his face.

“You are to me,” Bruce kissed him, softly at first and then much more insistently as Danse ran a hand through his hair and gently tugged.

He hummed low in his throat, eager to start, and roughly took fistfulls of Danses firm muscle in his broad hands. They sunk together onto their knees and their dog-tags ended up tangled together. 

Danse laughed softly, “I think that’s a sign.” 

“Of what?” Bruce muttered low as he worshipped Danse’s collarbone with his affectionate mouth.

“That we’re tangled. Almost inseparable. I can’t think of my future anymore unless you’re in it,” Danse let his head loll backwards as Bruce lowered his mouth to his chest and drew circles over sensitive buds with the tip of his tongue.

“Now who’s the sweet one?” He briefly wondered, when this mess was over, if Danse would be able to forgive him for spying on the Brotherhood. Bruce tried not to think hard about it, saving the effort for when it came time to face the problem.

Bruce wanted the entire world to know that Danse was his, but he relied on his sensible side to at least keep it hidden for a little longer and marked him where no one would notice. He guided Danse onto his back and began leaving searing kisses and light bruises on Danse’s chest. 

Danse gasped softly as Bruce’s rough fingers reached between his legs and tested how taut he was. 

“Just take me. I want all of you, Bruce,” Wish granted, Bruce made sure Danse watched as he slowly positioned his hips for entry.

“This might hurt, I hope you like pain.” Bruce playfully warned, having no real intention of harming Danse in any way, and the tip of his cock pushed past the boundary.

Danse felt his entire body shiver forcefully. The combination of Bruce’s words, the hungry look on his eyes, and how intensely he could feel Bruce stretching him was enough to completely overwhelm him. 

He knew just the words to make Bruce feel the same type of frenzy, “If this is what you call ‘pain’, I’m not impressed.” 

Bruce gave him a devilish grin before he pushed his hips forward, sinking almost halfway into Danse with some considerable strength. 

Danse clenched his teeth to stifle the scream trapped in his throat, letting the enticing pain ebb and flow. A soft whimper escaped him as Bruce remained perfectly still. 

“Ask me nicely and I might give you mercy,” Bruce pressed his lips to Danse’s ear. 

Danse stuttered out a subdued ‘please’ as Bruce loomed over him, snatching his wrists up above his head. 

He was kinder this time, giving Danse more time to adjust to him as he diligently listened for signs that he was being too rough. Soft moans and various expletives poured out of Danse as Bruce could finally move freely and stroked his hips back and forth at a maddeningly slow pace. 

Gradually, as the act intensified, their fingers intertwined and Bruce let his eyes roll back a bit. His habitual, unconscious tendency to mutter nonsense in his native tongue whenever he was drunk or making love made an appearance as Danse clenched tightly around him. 

Danse couldn’t understand a word, yet again, but it was still incredibly arousing to hear. He tried, out of natural curiosity, to memorise the words as he managed to wriggle out from under Bruce’s grip and toppled the larger man onto his back, testing out a different position, “What are you saying now?” 

Bruce let out a shaky laugh, his chest rising and falling rapidly as Danse bounced on top, “My apologies. I said, you’re beautiful, and...ah-” 

His head twisted to one side and he let out a low, drawn out moan. He sat up clumsily and pulled Danse down onto him harder. 

Danse sucked in his breath through his teeth as he felt Bruce’s cock hit a particularly sensitive spot inside him. He could feel the brand on Bruce’s chest press into his skin as they molded together. 

They were both close, teetering on the edge together and Danse found it all too easy to maneuver Bruce while he was like this, pushing him onto his back again and commanding him to go faster. 

Bruce happily obliged the request, his grip on Danse’s hips nearly crushing in strength. The match in the powder keg that brought them to climax was when Danse leaned back onto his hands. The new angle and position felt so mind-numbingly good for Bruce that he nearly blacked out as he met his end with a full body tremor.

“Holy fuck,” Bruce lazily covered their bodies with their own uniforms after recovering his sense, taking just enough care to make sure Danse would be warm, and he closed his eyes, “You almost killed me there.”

“Still think I’m worth it?” Danse lightheartedly teased as he bundled up to Bruce’s chest, not minding the thick hair that grew there. He noted with a humored smile that there were some grays scattered amongst the various light brown strands. 

“Absolutely. We’ve got a couple of hours to kill before Elder Maxson wants us back,” Bruce rubbed his thumb in sleepy circles over a small scar on Danse’s shoulder, “Bet I could get you at least two more times, show you how worth it you are.” 

Danse shook his head and he playfully asked him, “You’re insatiable. Is that all you can think about?” 

Bruce shrugged, his hand shifting to stroke through Danse’s soft hair, “It’s not all, but I don’t think I’ll ever get my fill of you moaning for me.” 

Danse sat up on his elbow, carefully studying the small details of Bruce’s eyes. They were blue-gray with flecks of dark brown trapped in the iris and he had endearing crow’s feet at the corner of each lid that crinkled when he smiled. He realized now why, whenever he tried to sketch Bruce's features, it didn’t do him justice. 

It was impossible to capture the infatuation in those eyes. 

“Do I have a growth on my face?” Bruce chuckled deeply in his chest as he watched Danse collect details. 

“No, I just,” Danse paused, narrowing his eyes in deep thought and he reached up to touch Bruce’s face. He could only guess from scant context clues that what he said next meant what he thought it did as his fingertips grazing over his rough stubble and he attempted Russian for the first time, “Ya lyublyu tebya.” 

Bruce’s eyes glittered with pride, an impressed smile stretching the corners of his mouth, “I love you, too.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (WARNING: This chapter has a very dark moment. I promise the next one will be more light-hearted.)

He heard the shot before he could even feel it. 

Someone screamed in the distance, like a dying animal, but inwardly Bruce had known that sound came from him. He went down, the sky and the ground pivoting around him, and the pain splintering from his abdomen was nearly blinding. 

His hand automatically reached to touch the wound, and when his finger briefly poked through the gouge on accident, Bruce recoiled in agony. 

A voice, cold and harsh, whispered a secret that killed him, and after letting go of another throat tearing scream, he became deaf. Another voice appeared, but he couldn’t hear them over the loud pictures darting through his fritzed mind. 

He saw the mines. Her smiling face. The drek that nearly killed him. Danse and his soft brown eyes.

Bruce tried to roll onto his side, but the effort proved impossible to muster as his blood pooled under him in a thick puddle. It poured from him and, quickly, he began to feel cold and lethargic. 

His eyes closed, gripping to the image of Danse, and he smiled faintly. 

At least, he knew, as he began to drift away, that Danse would be safe.

A mere week before he found himself dying on the ground, and only a day after their night at the diner, Bruce had been given an atom-bomb of an order. He felt like he’d stepped into an alternate universe where he wasn’t welcome as Elder Maxson calmly demanded the impossible. 

Bruce’s next mission was to hunt down and kill Danse. 

Still reeling after he left the command deck, he could already see how the event rippled through the entire ship. The news that there had been a synth among them this entire time was a blow, but the fact that it had been Danse almost instantly created a fracture in the entire faction. 

It was almost too much for Bruce, and the reality of it having happened felt like fate had spit in his face.

He moved mechanically, his mind on auto-pilot as there was only one thing he could do. 

Haylen stopped him on the flight deck, snatching him out of his stupor, and put a hand on his chest, “You can’t do this, Bruce. I’m begging you.”

“Move aside Haylen, I’ve been given orders,” He tried to relay with one look that talking like this could get her in trouble, and Bruce didn’t want her added to the mess. 

“That’s bullshit and you know it, after everything he did for the Brotherhood...for you! He gave you everything he had,” Her eyes were red with fresh, stinging tears, “If you kill him, I will never forgive you.”

Rhys intervened, pulling her away by the shoulders.

“Haylen, stop. Don’t act like that ‘thing’ is human. It’s a machine, and it was here to spy on us,” Rhys didn’t sound completely sure of himself as the two of them immediately got into a fight, the irony of his words about Danse being a spy only reaching Bruce.

He pushed past them and hopped into the Vertibird the Elder had reserved for Bruce to use, and Haylen chased after him once again, “Please, don’t do this. You can’t! He...he told us about you two.”

Bruce felt his heart skip a beat and his finger paused on the control board. He looked at her in dismay and then caught the telling look of surprise on Rhys. His jaw clenched and he looked straight ahead as a headache almost immediately formed behind his brow. 

“We won’t tell anyone, don’t worry,” Haylen tried to alleviate him, and Rhys looked off to the side with a frown, but he didn’t protest, “But if you love him as much as he loves you, you won’t do this.”

Bruce was shocked that Danse had told them without mentioning anything to him, but the true surprise came from Rhys. He bled the Brotherhood, and for him to have seemingly backed Danse up and support him regardless was almost mind-blowing. 

“Haylen...Rhys,” He waited for the latter party to finally lift his head and meet Bruces gaze, and spoke with a sincere tone of voice, “If I don’t come back, I want you to know, you were a sister and a brother to me.”

The Vertibird lifted off the platform, and Bruce made a bee-line for the only person he knew who might be able to help. 

The Castle radio operator caught his frequency mid-air and warned him that all Brotherhood craft were marked as hostile, and if he were to come any closer they would open fire. Bruce barked over the radio, “I’m a friendly, this is Sentinel Bruce calling for parlay, I need to speak to the General.”

There was a brutally long pause as he brought the Vertibird back around, remaining at a safe distance. 

“Bruce? What the hell is going on?” Gabriel’s voice jumped in onto the radio call, and the panic was palpable in his voice. “You’re clear for landing, get down here and tell me what’s happened.”

The moment his feet touched the ground, Bruce felt a powerful wave of grief overcome him, and he could barely keep himself together as he started sobbing out the story. He told Gabriel about Danse, and how his name must have gotten missed when they botched the scan, then felt his heart twist as he choked out, “I love him Gabriel. I can’t let them kill him. I can’t lose one more goddamn person.”

He sunk to his knees and openly weeped, “He’s all I have, Gabriel.”

Gabriel squatted down and he rubbed comforting circles on his back, letting him get it all out as his mind wrapped around the steady flow of information to formulate plans. Before he could offer his help, however, Deacon inserted himself into the private moment. 

“I have an idea,” Deacon strolled over as Bruce wiped his tears and Gabriel gave him a stern look, shaking his head, but Deacon continued regardless.

“So, hear me out, I’ve had to fake a death once or twice, so I’m basically an expert.” He put a hand on Bruce’s shoulder. 

Bruce seemed intrigued, but he was wary that a plan from Deacon was usually bizarre.

It took another few days to locate Danse, but with some help Bruce and Deacon were now ready to commence ‘Operation Save the Day and An Innocent Synth Who is also a Brotherhood Soldier and Maybe this isn’t Such a Good Idea but Lets Do it Anyway Because Bruce Loves Him’ or ‘O.S.T.D.A.A.I.S.W.I.A.A.B.S.A.M.T.I.S.A.G.I.B.L.D.I.A.B.B.L.H.’ according to Deacon. 

“Kind of roles off the tongue, don’t you think?” Deacon commented on the ridiculous acronym he’d invented while he carried an oversized duffle bag.

Bruce didn’t speak as they hiked North towards Listening Point Bravo. He patted his pocket as the door came into sight, hoping he wouldn’t have to use the object contained within. 

“Alright, should we do like a rehearsal or something or-”, Deacon began, but Bruce ignored him again as he trudged towards the bunker alone, “or are we just gonna do this? Yep. Cool.” 

He counted to ten and he breathed in and out slowly to assure himself this would work. Hours ago, he had played his role as a good soldier and informed Elder Maxson about Danse’s whereabouts and had promised him that by the time he arrived, the job would be done. 

His plan was to try and convince Danse to run away to the safety of the Minutemen before the Elder could arrive. He just had to convince Danse to go willingly. 

When Bruce was as ready as possible, he stepped forward into the dark, partially lit innards of the bunker. Only guided by the small lights on the consoles lining the wall and the occasional glowing patch of fungus, Bruce tread silently until he reached the mouth of a small cave. 

“No sudden moves, I’m armed,” He felt his heart sing when he heard Danse’s voice and then immediately skip a beat when he saw the laser rifle aimed right at his head. 

“Don’t shoot, it’s me, Bruce,” He heard the gun clatter to the ground and a choked sob. Bruce smiled softly and made a step towards him, but abruptly flinched a bit when Danse barked another order.

“Stay back,” His voice trembled as he hid in the shadows, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You could never hurt me, Danse,” Bruce used a coaxing tone, trying to get him to relax, “And I won’t hurt you. Please, come closer.”

“I somehow knew they would send you,” Danse couldn’t look his lover in the eyes, feeling like everything had been a lie. He stepped forward into the dull green light slowly, looking as though he hadn’t slept in years. 

He began rambling a full diatribe about how he was a monster and he needed to be eradicated, but Bruce swiftly closed the gap when he wasn’t paying attention and practically crushed Danse with his embrace. He felt Danse relax and begin to sob even harder.

Guiding them to sit together on the nearby bed, Bruce placed Danse on his lap and pressed his face into his back. The smell of loamy soil and sweat permeated through Danse’s filthy uniform as they remained silent for several minutes.

“I’m not going to kill you, I brought someone who will take you somewhere safe,” Bruce whispered into his unwashed hair and held him tightly. 

“But...how can you...how could you betray the Brotherhood like that?” Danse had anger and upset in his tone, but also hope. He wanted to flee, to accept Bruce’s help, but a large part of him knew he was ‘programmed’ to feel that way.

“I promised you, I would do anything for you,” Bruce could tell he was going nowhere, and that Danse had already made up his mind. 

“You have to do your duty,” Danse uttered weakly as his hand gripped fearfully with Bruce’s, gathering his courage. “I won’t go anywhere. This ends now.” 

Bruce’s chin trembled, feeling himself come close to suffering irreparable heartbreak. He started rocking back and forth with Danse in his arms, hoping somehow the motion would make his guilt ache less. Danse’s skin was so cold, and Bruce wished he’d been there for him to make him warm. 

He felt horrible for allowing this to happen. For not being there when Danse found out he was a synth. Maybe if he had been, they would already be too far to be caught by now.

The sound of an approaching Vertibird made Danse jump. His mind and heart struggled to come to a decision. 

“You have to do it,” He sobbed, “Please just, make it quick.” 

Bruce swallowed hard. He was beginning to accept that he would have to use his backup plan, although he truly wished he didn’t have to. Danse started to stand as the Vertibird landed outside, but Bruce pulled him back down into a choke hold. 

He shouted and began to fight like a caged animal, trying to escape Bruce’s powerful hold with all of his strength as he felt air being denied passage to his lungs. If this is how he died, to his lover of all people, Danse wanted to go out with a fight. 

Bruce was the stronger opponent, but that didn’t stop Danse from trying to best him. He nearly managed to free himself before he felt a sharp sting in his thigh and Bruce relaxed his grip as Danse retreated a few paces to look between the needle sticking out of his thigh and the grim look on Bruce’s face, “What have you done?” 

Danse felt his limbs relaxing without his permission as his vision began to wobble, and he started feeling extremely drowsy, “What...is this?” 

His words were slurred as his mind struggled to comprehend what was happening to him. Bruce caught him when his legs gave in and he felt the room spin even as Bruce laid him gently on the bed. Delirium immediately set in. 

‘This must be what it feels like to die,’ was the thought that echoed in Danse’s head as he blacked out shortly after getting one last look at Bruce. He grasped at the details, feeling his heart almost burst with how much he loved him despite this unfortunate turn of events. 

Danse closed his eyes, knowing he had to die, but he didn’t regret a moment of the time he’d spent with Bruce.

Bruce waited for Danse to fall limp and he pressed his closed fist to his lips, trying to stifle an anguished cry that wanted out. “I’m so sorry, Danse.”

He reached forward and stroked Danse’s forehead with the back of his hand, lamenting what would happen next. 

A crackle came over the radio and Deacon’s voice rudely interrupted Bruce, “Hey, don’t mean to rush you big guy, but we gotta load Danse up and get him outta here pronto.”

Bruce picked up Danse, carrying him safely outside as his head lolled against his shoulder. When he woke up, and Bruce was miles away on the Prydwen continuing his mission, he would undoubtedly be so mad at Bruce that they would never see each other again. 

He accepted this as a necessary trade. If it meant that Danse would live, Bruce would gladly take the heartbreak. 

Outside, he met with Gabriel and handed Danse off, watching mournfully as his limp body was secured to a seat in the Vertibird. 

“Okay you two, make sure to sell it, we don’t want to risk Maxson sniffing us out,” Gabriel leaned over to Bruce and pulled him into a hug, “I won’t keep you long, but I just wanna let you know that when this is all over, the offer still stands.” 

Bruce nodded anemically. If he wanted to, he could just call it quits now, and flee to Far Harbor again, but he was doing this for noble reasons. Someone had to take Maxson down. 

He flew away with Danse in tow, leaving Deacon and Bruce to set the stage for their little performance. 

“Okay so like, should I rough you up a little or a lot?” He trailed off as Bruce shot him a dirty glare and then said, “Or I could just tie you up, that works too. Totally breaks the immersion that I’m the badass that took down a Sentinel, but whatevs.”

Bruce got to his knees and put his hands behind his back as Deacon produced rope and began trussing him up to make it look like Deacon had captured him. He practiced the voice he would use when Maxson showed up, testing a ‘crazy scavver’ tone, and Bruce grumbled at him irritably. 

“Just put the damn gag on and stop talking,” He wanted to add that it was somewhat comforting that Deacon was unflappably confident about this, and he wanted to believe it would work too, but Bruce kept that to himself.

“Sassy! Alright, here goes, just don’t tell your boyfriend I did this,” Deacon duct taped his mouth shut and took a step back to measure the authenticity before adding a decent hair tossling and shrugging. “Well, duct tape is like gold for scavvers, so maybe instead I’m a chem addict, or- OH! A pirate!”

A second incoming Vertibird made Deacon jump into action and he felt giddy to play his most daring role, “Show time, make it look like you’re struggling, okay?”

Bruce didn’t have to try all that hard to pretend to fight the binds, having been in real situations like this, and he put good effort into it as Maxson landed and stepped out alone, pointing a pistol at Deacon. 

“What is this?” He growled, glancing at the scene apathetically as the ‘stranger’ held a gun to Bruce’s head. 

“Who the hell do you think you are? This here’s my meat!” Deacon settled on redneck cannibal.

“Step away, now,” Maxson’s aim remained steady, “I won’t hesitate to shoot, even if you kill him in the process. You have one chance to leave, now.”

Deacon felt a bead of sweat fall from his forehead. He believed absolutely that this was his only chance out, and so he kicked Bruce in the back and scurried off into the woods, sprinting furiously to his escape route. 

Just as planned, but a little more terrifying than originally thought. 

Maxson stood over Bruce, menacingly, for what felt like an eternity before he knelt down and ripped off the duct tape. 

“I apologize, sir, he took me by surprise,” Bruce felt something in the way Maxson stared at him that made his gut do backflips. 

“Did he now?” Maxson stood again, looking in the direction of where the man had run off to before glancing back down to Bruce, “I’m very disappointed in you... Andrei.”

Bruce felt like he’d been in a high speed car accident, right at the moment of impact when time seemed to slow to a crawl and shattered glass flew past his head like he was floating in space. He could only stare at Maxson with wide, questioning eyes. 

“That’s right. I knew who you were all along, Sentinel Lyons,” Maxson kept his tone flat, “You really think I wouldn’t recognize you? I was going to let the matter go, even your obvious relationship with Danse, because we needed men like you, but when I discovered you had gone behind my back?”

Maxson leaned down, so that he could watch Bruce as he delivered the final blow, “You should have stayed wherever you went after I killed your wife.”

His smile was malicious as he watched Bruce cycle through understanding, grief, and confusion until his features twisted into a hatred so pure that it burned. 

“You...you?!” Bruce leapt to keep his promise that he would kill whoever had taken Sarah from him, but he didn’t get far as Maxson shot him once in the chest. 

He went down hard, a scream erupting from his mouth as his arms sprung free from the fake binds and then he spasmodically writhed from the pain. He quickly fell silent after muttering an oath, “I’ll come back to fuckin’ kill you...I will.”

Maxson approached to inspect his handiwork, noting the near precise aim. Even though it had been point blank, made easier because the target was steady, Maxson internally patted himself on the back for his marksmanship. 

The wound would ensure that Bruce would die slowly.

“For your service, you’ll die slowly, knowing that as I choked the life out of her she begged me not to because she was pregnant,” Maxson smirked evilly as Bruce let out an anguished howl, grieving the loss all over again and hyperventilating as he clutched his hands to the pain in his heart.

“I’ll kill you...monster,” Bruce closed his eyes as it all overwhelmed him and he lost his will to speak. 

Maxson kicked the dying man’s ribs harshly, easily breaking them with his enhancements, “You could have brought glory to the Brotherhood, but instead you threw away that opportunity for your own selfish-.”

“Hey, Elder shit-stain,” Deacon interrupted Maxson’s monologue, “Up here, mother fucker.” 

Maxson angrily turned his attention to the figure hopping up and down on top of the hill over the bunker. He couldn’t quite tell what, but the shirtless man was holding something big over his shoulders. 

“You see this? This is a fucking Fat-Man, and you better bet your flat ass it’s fucking live.” Deacon taunted.

Maxson felt a cold sweat break out, but he maintained composure, “Put the weapon down, citizen.” 

Deacon began stamping his feet like a man on multiple chems, raising his voice to a shrill screech as he screamed, “Fuck you! I’m fucking crazy. I’ll drop this fat load in a heartbeat if you don’t get off my land. Leave the corpse too, it’s good eatin!” 

Deacon started loading a ‘shell’ into the sling, but Maxson had already hurried back onto the Vertibird by the time the motion was finished. The aircraft took off, retreating into the night, and Deacon exhaled the breath he’d been holding. 

He dropped the ordinary log he was holding onto the ground, grabbed his shirt, and raced towards Bruce. 

“Hey, stay with me pal,” He pressed his shirt into the wound, worry only really sinking in when blood soaked through the fabric within seconds. “Fuck, you’re bleeding bad. Hang in there, bud. I’m gonna call backup.”


	19. Chapter 19

Danse groggily opened his eyes in an unfamiliar location, and he tried to endure the staggering headache thrumming against his temples as he gathered his bearings. 

A hand startlingly pressed gently against his chest and he instinctively reached up to touch it, but finding that it wasn’t nearly as rough and scarred as he expected he muttered in a confused tone, “Bruce?” 

A female voice hushed him and he sat up laboriously and said, “No, it’s me. Hey, you big lug, take it easy.” 

Haylen came into focus and Danse squinted at her with scepticism, trying to understand how she was here, “What...where am I? What’s going on?” 

He suddenly felt like he was going to puke. 

The sickening sensation tingling in the back of his throat made him close his eyes in a desperate attempt to stabilize himself, but he still felt queasy despite his efforts. Ultimately, Danse couldn’t hold his bile, and Haylen helped him vomit into a bucket.

“You’re coming down from some heavy sedatives, I bet your stomach is doing backflips right now,” Haylen tried to calm him. “It’ll wear off, don’t worry.”

Danse’s memory slowly returned to him piece by piece, and it dawned on him that what he thought was a just bad dream had really happened, “Bruce...drugged me?” 

“He did,” Haylen sounded like she had been an accomplice as she looked to the side shamefully. 

Danse forced his eyes open, outrage fueling his sudden movements as he turned quickly to stare her down, “You knew? Where is h-” 

He lurched sideways and retched into the buckett again. 

Haylen looked like a kicked puppy when Danse pulled himself together and turned his ire on her again. He spoke as if he wasn’t convinced in his own words, “You both... betrayed the Brotherhood. Why?” 

“We couldn’t just let you die,” She folded her hands over her lap and she glanced to the side, “No matter the price we paid, you’re safe now, in the Castle.”

He threw the blanket covering his lower half to the floor in an attempt to stand, needing to confront Bruce as soon as possible, and Haylen caught him when his legs refused to hold his weight as she pushed him back onto the bed.

“Danse, please, you need to relax,” She tried to coax him into laying flat on his back. 

“Let. Me. Go,” He growled through gritted teeth, but gave up fighting her to sit up when he realized he simply didn’t have the energy.

“Listen to the good doctor, son,” A gravelly voice entered the conversation and Danse saw a man, nearly as tall and muscle-bound as a super mutant, dressed in a blue uniform. 

“Who are you?” Danse eyed the man with scrutiny. 

“I believe introductions are necessary,” The man strode forward, his distinct clicking footsteps drawing Danses attention to his prosthetic, and he took Danse’s hand into a firm shake, “General of the Minutemen, Gabriel Romero. At your service.” 

Danse held his tongue and gave the man another once over, remarking to himself that he looked like he stepped out of one of those pre-war US Army enlistment posters.

Gabriel pulled up a chair and sat in it backwards. “I came to apologize, you must be downright furious. It was my plan to have Bruce spy on the Brotherhood.” 

Danse frowned, finding a new source to blame all this on, and he felt like he could strangle this man for being the catalyst to the chain of events that brought him here. The person who, by proxy, had sent Bruce to the Brotherhood under false pretenses. 

The General pulled out a pack of smokes, placing one to his lip before offering Danse one.

He didn’t make a move to take one, keeping his hateful gaze on Gabriel, but Haylen reached over to accept a cigarette and gave the General a generous smile. Danse shot Haylen a look that screamed ‘traitor’ and he pressed his hands to his face before he let his frustration get the better of him. “I’m done talking. I want to see Bruce. Take me to him. Now!” 

Haylen looked like she was about to cry. 

“It’s probably for the best that you don’t see him in such a state.” Gabriel tried to reassure Danse, “Our mutual friend, Bruce, is in a bad way, but he’s an ornery man, much like myself. If I know him as well as I think I do, and I do, he’ll pull through,” 

“What happened to him?” Danse stuttered as he felt his rage soften into worry and he looked between the grim expressions. 

“He was shot, lost a lot of blood,” Gabriel’s tone was gentle as he attempted to ease the concept of this news to Danse, “We got to him in time. He’ll recover. You should get some rest, this must be jarring for you.”

“I need to see him, please,” Danse sat up, fighting himself to get out of the bed as his limbs refused to work properly. 

Gabriel sighed, accepting that convincing him wasn’t going to work, and he stood up slowly, his prosthetic leg creaking on its rusty joint, “Let me get you crutches, at least, that sedative we used to knock you out is no joke, and it'll take a full day for you to find your legs. Trust me, I know.” 

Promptly after begrudgingly accepting the crutches, they all walked a short distance in a silence that could cut stone. Bruce was kept in a private room not far away, hooked up to an IV and a machine monitoring his vitals. 

Danse looked on in horror at his pale, deathly face and stifled a pained cry as he came closer. 

Bruce's eyes, stained red from tears, were closed, and he was in a deep, artificial sleep, but it wasn’t the normal peaceful expression that Danse had grown fond of. This looked like he was trapped inside of himself and couldn’t wake up. His exposed chest rose and fell shallowly, and Danse could see where he’d been shot. 

Looking at the bandages was enough to make it all too real for Danse, and he started to openly sob as he took Bruce’s cold, limp hand in his. He slumped into a chair, pulling it closer to his bedside, and pressed his lips to the back of Bruce's hand while his wails threatened to tear from his throat.

“Who did this to him?” Danse felt his anger towards him soften, almost entirely forgiving Bruce, and all he wanted to know now was who had tried to take him away. 

Haylen and Gabriel both looked at eachother, not sure if they should say, but Haylen accepted the difficult task. “Elder Maxson lied to us Danse. All of us.”

Yesterday, on the Prydwen, Elder Maxson gave a long speech on the treachery of the Institute and then described the heroism of Sentinel Bruce, who had selflessly sacrificed his life to take down ‘the synth spy’. 

Haylen later learned from an anonymous letter addressed for her eyes only, that Bruce still clung to life, and it had been Maxson who had tried to murder him. She’d only been made privy to this because it had been Bruce's last request, and now she was here with Rhys in enemy territory, trying to provide support for her two favorite commanders. 

Danse couldn’t believe his ears. 

Nothing in his life seemed to make any sense now. Bruce was clinging to life right before him, and the man who had taken him in from the wastes and given Danse a purpose had done this. He was a synth, possibly created to spy on the Brotherhood, and ironically he fell for another spy. 

Danse begged anything and everything that was listening to let Bruce survive, his tears falling in a steady stream as he croaked, “Please, don’t leave me. I can’t be alone again.”

\---

Days later, Danse had to work through some difficult feelings, adjusting slowly to his new life, but the Castle seemed to be a perfect place to heal. 

The Minutemen’s exceeding kindness and comradery is what made Danse finally accept his temporary new position in life. They gave him comfortable, clean clothes, access to hot showers, and free meals without question. Most importantly, they were patient and welcoming. 

Danse got to know the General’s strange inner circle in between visiting Bruce by his bedside and coping with his new situation. 

“You have,” Danse didn’t want to insult Gabriel, after all, he was giving Danse shelter and Bruce medical care, “Interesting allies.”

“Bunch of freaks and weirdos, you mean?” They were sitting at the bar in the late evening, and Gabriel gave him a wry smirk as he held a pint to his lips. 

Danse gave him an awkward side-ways glance, “I didn’t mean that.” 

Gabriel passed him a glass of whiskey and patted him on the back, “You were thinking about it. Can’t blame you kid, with what you been taught. I take it as a compliment that the Brotherhood hates who I love.” 

Danse felt compelled to crack a smile for the first time in days as he accepted the drink. For just a moment, The General vaguely reminded him of Bruce. 

“Hell if being born is a sin, then they did it,” Gabriel said as he looked over his broad shoulder at his close friends. Danse looked with him, reminding himself of each of their names by memory. 

Codsworth was the one who’d known Gabriel the longest, having been his Mr. Handy unit before the war. Gabriel had said that the robot was like family to him, which took Danse aback. He himself was still struggling with the baffling idea that he was a machine, and Bruce had loved him. 

Danse couldn’t be sure if that was still true now, not until Bruce woke up, and he kept himself occupied from that worrying thought by observing the others. 

The young man currently getting hazed by the ghoul Mayor of Goodneighbor, John Hancock, and the sunglass wearing, bald man, known only as Deacon, was Robert Joseph Macready. A reformed Gunner, from what Danse could understand, Gabriel had helped Robert acquire a cure for his ailing son, Duncan. 

Danse had been fascinated to know he was from the Capital Wasteland, like him, and he was curious to ask a few questions until Robert turned a sour look on him.

As for Deacon, he had been the one who saved Bruce’s life. Danse made a mental note to properly thank him at some point. 

Two residents from Diamond City were present as well, one rather bombastic reporter, Piper Wright, and a Generation 2 synth that had introduced himself as Detective Nick Valentine. 

Danse wondered if he was filled with wires like Nick was.

Cait was a former Raider, three months clean from chems thanks to Gabriel carrying her all the way to Vault 95 where they used some sort of machine to detox her. They had supposedly met in a cage fight. She sat next to Piper and was easily the loudest one in the room. 

Colonel Preston Garvey, who Danse sensed had a secret mutual attraction between him and the General, was up on the shoddily built platform stage singing karaoke with Gabriel’s well trained German Shepherd, Dogmeat. 

He smiled warmly as he glanced to see that indeed, Gabriel was watching Preston with noticeable adoration. 

Moving on to even more of Gabriel’s people, he struggled to remember the name of the old man wearing a long coat and the other man with an eye patch drinking alone. Both of them sported odd names. 

Old Longfellow was, surprisingly, a long-time friend of Bruce, and had come all the way from Far Harbor. He didn’t seem too friendly with others, with the exception of Gabriel, and Danse wondered what stories he could tell him about Bruce. 

Porter Gage was also a reformed Raider, and much like Old Longfellow only really interacted with one person. He was extremely cagey when Danse had asked how he came to be a Minuteman, but Danse could infer that Gabriel had spared his life and given him a second chance at things. 

Two robots, designated S.A.R.G.E. , a heavily modified sentry bot, and A.D.A. , who was surprisingly aware of herself, were not present, but Gabriel had still introduced them as if they were his own children. 

Also not present was Curie, who was most likely still working at the hospital. She was responsible for Bruce surviving so far, and Danse was having trouble wrapping his head around the fact that she was essentially a Miss Nanny transferred into a synth body. 

Over on the other side of the room, standing as far away from everyone else as possible without being out of sight, were two of the most shocking curiosities. 

Strong was a super mutant, plain and simple, and Danse wouldn’t have believed Gabriel without seeing it with his own eyes, but the thing actually believed Gabriel was his leader. He made a mental note to keep as far from the disgusting mutant as possible. 

Finally, and the most unbelievable thing here, an actual Institute Courser.

Originally sent to monitor the Minutemen before he switched sides, ‘X’ stood glowering at the revelry. 

“So, kid,” Gabriel paused to take a liberal swig of his whiskey, “If you don’t mind me prying into your private affairs, just out of friendly curiosity, how long have you and Bruce been a thing?” 

Danse didn’t know he could be so embarrassed as he felt his face almost instantaneously bloomed with heat and he stammered, “That’s hardly any of your business.” 

Gabriel laughed heartily and nearly dislodged Danse from his seat with a hardy pat on the back. 

“My condolences, didn’t realize that was a sore subject,” He was clearly drunk, Danse now realized, “It’s just… I like hearing stories like yours. Star-crossed love and all that. I been fooled before, several times in fact, but I could of sworn Bruce wasn’t the lovey dovey type. He was a broken man when I found him.” 

Danse felt like this was leading up to the reveal he’d been fearing all along. That Bruce didn’t love him, afterall, and had just gotten close to him to make Danse weak. At least, he was paranoid that it was a possibility after finding out Bruce was a spy, but he couldn’t rationalize a reason why he would choose Danse.

Gabriel didn’t notice the gloomy expression Danse wore, too distracted by Preston and Dogmeat dancing together, “You gotta hang onto that. Love ain’t common in this world.” 

Danse stared deeply into his drink, feeling lower than ever, “I’m not even sure he does love me. What if he just faked it?”

At that, Gabriel appeared to sober up surprisingly quick, and he chided Danse with a stern, fatherly tone, “Don’t say shit like that.” 

Danse gawped at Gabriel, unsure of how to react. 

“I don’t know what bullshit the Brotherhood has been feeding you, or whatever led you to believe that nonsense, but Bruce is an honest man. He doesn’t like lying any more than a brahmin likes being tipped over,” Gabriel paused, softening his tone as he realized he was being too heavy handed.

He continued after sipping his whiskey, “In fact, it took some mighty powerful convincing to get him to do what he did. He spied because your people slaughtered fifteen farmers for no good reason, and I needed to know why.” 

Danse felt like he was put in the hot seat for something he didn’t do, and he opened his mouth to protest, but Gabriel added, “Now, I know you didn’t shoot them, son, but who knows what you’ve done to get that shiny title or yours.” 

Danse clenched his fist, ready to strike at the next insult to his character. 

“Bruce saw something in you,” Gabriel seemed unfazed by the raw anger in Danse’s eyes, “You need to hear this, and you need to hear it now. You are loved. Bruce came here, when he didn’t have to, and stuck his neck out for you. So what are you gonna do about it?” 

“What can I do?” Danse felt his rage contort into insecurity with just one question. He felt so small and a significant part of him was riddled with guilt that Bruce had gotten hurt protecting him.

The Brotherhood was all he knew, and he was sure they had been right in calling for his death, but he couldn’t rationalize almost killing Bruce too. Accepting the atrocities committed by his fellows felt tantamount to treason. There was always a good reason for what they had to do, but now he wasn’t so sure. 

Gabriel tapped his finger on the drink in Danses hand, “Take a sip, and let yourself really feel those emotions you’ve been bottling up. Change happens one step at a time. If raiders, gunners, supermutants, and even reporters can do it, so can you.” 

Danse downed the contents of the glass in one go and he hissed from the bite of the alcohol, “I couldn’t save Bruce.” 

Gabriel smiled in a fatherly way at Danse and poured him another, “No, but you can still help. It’s never too late to make a stand for what’s right.” 

Danse nodded, slowly taking in the message, “You make a fair point.” 

After a moment he took another sip and shook his head, smiling bemusedly, “How did you do that? I was about to punch you but now I just feel guilty even thinking about it.” 

Gabriel grinned ear-to-ear, “I been told I can be quite charming. Also heard a little rumor that I’m actually a horribly flawed asshole who likes pokin’ his nose in other people's business, but I suppose someone’s got to.” 

Danse genuinely laughed at that statement and he relaxed deeper into the chair.

Preston switched places with Piper and Cait, who started singing an aggressive little melody about ‘bubblegum bitches’, and he passed Danse and Gabriel with a friendly wave before he left the bar. 

Danse smirked as an idea came to mind, and he leaned over once Preston was out of ear-shot, “So how long have you had feelings for your subordinate officer?” 

Gabriel spit out his drink in dramatic fashion and spent the next few seconds sputtering and coughing as the collective of his friends all either laughed or asked if he was okay. “I’m fine, I’m fine, wrong pipe.” 

He shot Danse a look of pretend anger before cracking up and chuckling low in his chest, “Is it that obvious?” 

Danse nodded slowly, “You aren’t very subtle.” 

Gabriel wiped himself clean with a rag and smiled forlornly. He let out a heavy sigh and turned a wistful look on Danse, “Well don’t get your hopes up. This grizzled senior citizen doesn’t stand a chance with someone like Preston.” 

The General tried to keep a brave face, but Danse wasn’t born yesterday. “That’s incredibly hypocritical of you. If you would have me believe that Bruce loves me, then, judging by the way you two look at each other alone, that's also love.” 

He shook his head, genuinely surprised by Danses words, and he smiled at him with pride, “Well look at that. I’ve been properly put in my place.” 

Deacon butted into the conversation, wrapping his arm around Gabriels shoulders as he said. “It’s not worth it, crew cut. We’ve all tried getting them to admit their undying love. They’re too stubborn. Hell, even Strong tried.” 

“Human should mate with other human. Strong bond makes strong babies,” The super mutant shouted from across the bar, instantly inviting everyone else into the conversation. 

“That’s not how it works, you big green bastard,” Cait said through a thick, slurred Irish accent. A round of approval passed through the room. 

“Strong smash stupid lady, that works,” He didn’t make a move to honor that threat, though, and Danse relaxed his hand as it almost immediately shot to his weapon. 

“You’d miss her too much, we all know you love her after she knocked you out,” Hancock retorted, ribbing the mutant while the whole room buzzed with laughter. 

“Strong never miss. Aim too good.” More laughter at the super mutant’s expense as the point flew miles over his head. 

“Don’t change the subject, a little reporter told me that Gabriel Romero and Preston Garvey passionately embraced after the battle with the Brotherhood,” Piper whooped, “I think I saw some tongue!” 

Some of them were doubling over and holding their sides. Others rolled their eyes. 

“That’s my boy,” The croaky voice of Old-Longfellow added.

Gabriel gave them each enough time to get a jab in at his own expense before he smirked, shaking his head as he said, “Hush now, before y’all wake the dead.”

“I see what you meant earlier,” Danse said after it had quieted down, “I haven’t seen comradery like this in ages, even amongst the Brotherhood. They really care about you and you care about them. That’s a kind of love and, you’re right, the world needs more of it.” 

Gabriel smiled like nothing could break his stride, “Now you’re getting it, son.”


	20. Chapter 20

A mere week later, Danse was violently ripped from sleep at the crack of dawn by a blaring alarm. He mechanically pulled on his boots and grabbed his weapon, rushing head first into what he expected to be a full on attack. Others similarly moved around him to man their battle stations. 

The Castle’s radio announcer boomed over the clamor, “Liberty Prime and aerial forces coming in from the West. Minutemen, give em hell.” 

This was it. Judgement day. 

Danse scurried onto the battlements and found everyone he’d met in the past few days minus one important person. Preston turned when he saw Danse, fire and brimstone burning in his usually kind eyes, and he shouted over the chaos to get his attention, “Hey, you seen Gabriel?” 

Danse, flummoxed that he of all people would be asked such a thing, shook his head. 

“Dammit,” Preston spun around and gave Ronnie Shaw, his fellow Colonel, a series of hand signals and a nod. Ronnie roared like a lioness at those around her, calling them to arms. 

Danse took the brief moment to scan the horizon and just there, approaching slowly, he could undeniably see Liberty Prime. 

“We need to find the General,” He shouted the obvious statement at Preston over the uproar, his panic setting in and making him unsure of what to do or say. 

Impatiently, Preston snagged Danse’s sleeve and marched him back down and into the walls of the Castle. “He was on patrol last night, scouting South. I have a strong suspicion that him being MIA and the Brotherhood attacking out of nowhere isn’t coincidental.” 

Danse shook his head, knowing what Preston was going to ask of him before the moment came to pass. “I’ve already assembled a team, they’ll be waiting on the Vertibird platform for you. Go get him back, or avenge him.” 

Preston set his jaw, staring Danse down as if waiting for him to challenge the order. Danse swallowed his words like a hard lump in his throat and stood at attention, “Yes, sir.” 

\---

Meanwhile, Gabriel passed the time waiting for something to happen by stamping his foot to a song he was humming. The metal grating beneath his feet made a pleasant, tinny tapping sound. 

He heard voices coming closer and settled deeper into the chair he was handcuffed to, spreading his thighs wide as if he were home on his own couch. 

Elder Maxson stood back, glaring, as the guard flung open the cell door. He stepped forward under the harsh, fluorescent light and his facial features were contorted by shadows, “So, General, we finally me-”

“Oh, please, call me Gabriel,” He interrupted him with the over-the-top southern drawl he used on people he disliked. It didn’t seem to amuse the small man one bit, but Gabriel had intentionally used his ‘wild animal magnetism’, as he lovingly called it, to get under Maxson’s skin.

Maxson attempted speaking again, “We finally meet, Gene-”

“Hang on,” Gabriel tweaked his mouth and nose, “Sorry, got an itch, can you get it for me?” 

Maxson reeled back and sucker-punched Gabriel square in the nose and he felt it crack under his knuckles. 

Gabriel paused, groaning in pain, before he spit some of his own blood onto the floor, “You got it, thanks.” 

Maxson felt his temper bristling and he gave the snide man one more punch to the gut for good measure, “Will you just shut up?” 

Gabriel, having no intention of giving Maxson the satisfaction of breaking him, coughed out a sarcastic reply while his grin plastered on his face, “You could try to gag me, but I gotta warn you, I’m really into kinky stuff like that.” 

Maxson reached his boiling point and threw up his hands in frustration, “Enough! Just get whatever information you can from him.” 

He nodded at the guard and stormed out. 

Gabriel turned to the guard, eyebrows raised in pretend surprise, “So...how are you?” 

The man revealed a long metal baton with a cruel smirk. He swung it at Gabriel’s jaw before he could add yet another wisecrack. 

\---

Danse climbed onboard with the other Minutemen, feeling a strange sense of dejavu, as the commandeered Vertibird prepared for takeoff. He saw two familiar figures approaching and hopped out of the cockpit to get a better look at the person behind Preston.

It was like seeing a ghost. Bruce hobbled over, looking frail but determined. 

“I told him he needed rest, but he wants to join us,” Preston boomed over the whirring Vertibird blades and walked past Danse. 

Bruce avoided eye contact, feeling like Danse had to be upset with him, and he boarded after Preston. If he lived after this, he promised himself they would talk. 

Danse knew the reunion would be challenging, but his heart sunk as he saw Bruce ignore it altogether. He began to wonder if his worries had been correct, and as the Vertibird took off, Danse looked away and tried to focus on the battle. 

Up in the air, Danse could see that the Brotherhood ground forces were already near, and the Minutemen soldiers were valiantly holding them back. In the distance he saw strange green explosions peppering Liberty Prime’s armored exterior and another stolen Vertibird circling it like a vulture. 

A loud cheer registered on Preston’s radio and Danse could hear a man with a southern accent exclaim, “Preston, these EMP grenades are doin’ the trick. I suggest you get to the Prydwen ASAP before me and Fixit run out of these things, though.” 

He wasn’t sure, but Danse thought he could make out a woman screaming in Chinese in the foreground. 

“Baby,” The man said, forgetting the radio was still on, “When we get back home Imma kiss the hell out of you. Look at you go!” 

Preston smiled as he gave a brief introduction of the brave couple, “Sturges and Fixit are crazy, but that’s my favorite thing about them. Best mechanics I know to tear that hunk of metal to shreds.” 

He lifted the radio, speaking over the sound of Sturges losing his lunch from his severe vertigo, “Sturges, Fixit, kick em where it hurts, just for me.” 

Fixit could be heard laughing like a maniac on the other end. 

Bruce held his side and looked out over the edge of the craft as they sped towards the Prydwen. He tried his best not to think about other concerns, expecting that now he knew everything, Danses feelings for Bruce had been damaged. 

He had no way of knowing that Danse was similarly lost on how to approach Bruce, his burden being about his true nature as a synth and whether he could be loved, and so they both looked the opposite direction, filling the air with tension. 

Preston glanced between the two men, as stiff as statues, and made a mental note to help them talk it out if they made it back. 

With most of the Brotherhood troops attacking the Castle, a wave of relief swept over Preston as he saw only minimal resistance upon arrival. He turned to his squad and shouted as they began to make a quick landing, “These bastards want a fight, they got one. Let’s show ‘em what the Minutemen can really do.” 

He hopped out first, rolling as he landed on the landing platform and he rushed forward into cover. The three Minutemen soldiers followed suit in a tight unit, while their heavy gunner in full T-45 power armor laid the bulk of the return fire with a minigun. 

Bruce, ignoring the spike of pain that darted up his spine when his feet hit the ground, took cover with Danse and their shoulders briefly touched. 

Danse noticed the pained look on his lover’s face, but felt helpless to act on it while they were under fire. 

As rehearsed on the ride there, Danse led the invasion into the bowels of the Prydwen. 

Bruce lagged behind in the back of the group, making sweeps at their rear to make sure they weren’t ambushed and reserve his strength. His eyes connected meaningfully with Danse’s as he was the last to reach the door that would take them inside. 

As quick as it had happened, Bruce averted his gaze and pushed past Danse wordlessly.

Leaving the flight deck, Danse was forced to face the inevitability of killing a fellow Brotherhood soldier. He had been reluctant at first, but now as a man Danse had seen casually around the ship in the past charged at him he had no choice but to defend himself. 

With one decisive shot, the man fell and Danse was frozen in place. He hadn’t pulled the trigger, choking just when he went to end the life of a fellow soldier.

His attention floated to Bruce, the barrel of his rifle still smoking. 

Danse ran a hand through his hair, collecting himself as he let the others pass him. Bruce was about to amble by, deadpan expression making Danse fume, but he didn’t make it far. 

He turned calmly and glanced at the hand gripping his coat. 

“What is your problem?” Danse growled. He tried to push down the growing heartbreak in his chest and focus, but Danse couldn’t take it anymore, “Why are you acting like I don’t exist?” 

Bruce took a fistful of Danse’s shirt and yanked him closer, a tear spilling out of the corner of his eye as Bruce cupped Danses face with one broad hand and kissed him. His parted lips and leisurely seeking tongue saying more than any words Danse knew. 

He pulled away just enough to let his eyes pour into Danse’s and said in a low, affectionate tone, “Let’s talk later.” 

Danse followed him to catch up with the others, the memory of their embrace dwelling on him. It almost felt like a goodbye, but Danse didn’t want to feed that worry. 

The Brotherhood didn’t normally take prisoners, so Danse was somewhat relieved to see that they had constructed a cell in the bowels of the ship just for the General. It meant he was most likely still alive. 

Preston let out an anguished howl once they came to find Gabriel laying motionless amidst smears of his own blood. He shot the lock open and rushed to his side, kneeling down and grunting with effort as he rolled Gabriel’s heavy body over. 

“Don’t you dare die on me,” Preston performed chest compressions, desperately pumping his open palms on Gabriel’s chest. The medic strode over and helped Preston.

It seemed to take an eternity before Gabriel finally took several deep gasps of air. He rolled, coughing blood and spittal onto the floor. Preston rubbed his back and whispered sweet nothings to him. 

“Is that an angel I hear, come to save me?” Gabriel wheezed feebly as Preston fondly wiped what blood he could from Gabriel’s horribly swollen face.

“I guess it’s my turn to rescue you, huh?” The two shared a soft laugh, pressing their foreheads together. 

“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” Gabriel croaked, letting Preston duck under his arm to support him after freeing him from his binds, 

“You know, I should have taken those handcuff escape lessons from Piper.” He hissed through his teeth as Preston supported him to a standing position, “But I told her the only way I’d be caught in the damn things is if I had consented to it.” 

He laughed at his own joke, twinging when his muscles complained. 

“Listen you big goofball, I love you, but Imma need you to focus,” Preston strained to hold Gabriel. He’d almost forgotten just how heavy he really was. 

“You...love me?” Gabriel let the medic take his other arm as he stared at Preston in rapturous awe. 

“Confess later,” Bruce roared, “We got company.”

They had fallen for the bait and now found themselves in the middle of a full scale ambush. Gabriel dove, practically tackling Preston to shield him with his body and they all tumbled behind the cover of a low metal wall. 

Bruce and Danse opened fire, standing closely together like old times. The Minuteman’s heavy gunner managed to make the Brotherhood retreat backwards and give them all time to regroup.

Gabriel hooted, cackling like a madman, and he shouted, “They think they got us pinned.” 

Preston smirked at him with pride, “What’s the plan, General?” 

“Well, they have no idea who I got on my side,” He called Bruce and Danse over before he continued, “With you two leading the way, we’ll be able to rip straight through to the command deck and cut the head off this snake.”

“I have an idea that will save a lot of lives,” Bruce glanced at Danse, wondering momentarily just how much he’d been told, and he uttered his oath, “I promised Maxson I would kill him for taking my wife and child, and I'll do more than just that. I'm going to challenge him for Eldership.”

Danse eyes widened to their fullest as he was blindsided by Bruce’s words, “You...how? Only members of the Elder family can do that.”

Bruce and Gabriel shared a mutual smirk and he turned to announce to Danse, “I see we have a lot of catching up to do, but I'll make it brief. Before I changed it, my name was Andrei Lyons.”


	21. Chapter 21

Decades ago, Andrei landed off the coast of D.C. at the age of seventeen. 

The plane that had carried him over the Atlantic ocean all the way from Russia had landed smoothly on the beach, and he had no doubt in his mind that, despite its janky appearance, it would never fail him. 

He was ready to start his life over, having nothing left to keep him in Russia after losing his family and recovering from a terrible sickness. 

That was when he met her. 

Sarah Lyons, just a teen like he was, had seen his amateur piloting skills first hand and approached him in an intimidating full suit of power armor with a modest proposal. 

“Come fly with the Brotherhood, kid,” She had said after she introduced herself. 

Andrei had stammered, his English meager at best at the time, and he said yes. She reminded him of the fiery archangels his commander used to read to him about. 

Still, despite the language barrier, she saw his potential and took him in, eventually introducing him to Elder Lyons, her father, and then inducted him into the ranks of the Brotherhood. 

It took years of faithful service, but one day Andrei reflected on his past and saw that his life had taken a turn for the better. He was promoted to Sentinel, at some point, and his friendship with Sarah had grown into something more. 

They were wed with the blessing of Elder Lyons and to the cheers of the entire Brotherhood.

Time continued to pass and, with the help of the legendary hero, The Lone Wanderer, he was present to defeat their mortal enemy, the Enclave. 

Andrei could ask for nothing more, and he was looking forward to starting a family of his own. Everything seemed to be going so well, until tragedy struck.

Elder Lyons passed away in his sleep not long after the Enclaves defeat, and Sarah was prepared to step up as the new Elder, but the council had other plans. She mysteriously vanished one day on a scouting mission, the body never having been recovered, and within a week the sixteen year old Arthur Maxson was chosen for Eldership.

Andrei watched on with apathy as changes were made, knowing in his gut that they had killed his wife, but he still searched for her. 

He excommunicated himself when he couldn’t take the grief anymore, just months before the Outcasts were welcomed back into the fold. His plane, the last good thing left in his life, didn’t make the journey North, and it sunk into the depths of the Atlantic ocean. 

He buried the past and his old name with a photograph of Sarah in a shallow grave on the coast of Boston and from there, Bruce simply drifted without purpose through life. 

No longer caring what happened to him, Bruce wound up in Far Harbor, losing his faith in humanity bit by bit as he watched more people die and others go mad while the months blurred into years. 

The General of the Minutemen eventually found him rotting away, drinking himself to death in his own personal hell. He offered him a job after listening to his story, one that would not just help The Minutemen, but also give him a chance at revenge.

Bruce had accepted, saying it was for the generous amount of caps, but really it was just his hope that the dangerous mission would end his miserable existence. He didn’t expect to survive killing those who had taken his wife from him, nor did he plan on it.

He wasn’t the man who would never betray the Brotherhood anymore. That fool had died with Sarah.

Bruce needed closure, and he went with the intention of doing whatever it took to get that. 

\---

Speeding towards the final confrontation, Danse lagged behind as his mind desperately struggled to wrap around what he had just learned. His eyes remained affixed to the back of Bruce’s head as he led them through the ship. 

He had heard the legendary stories about Sentinel Andrei Lyons, and looked up to the figure as the ideal soldier. His story had been used as a tragic lesson on burning out when you overworked yourself, but Danse had focused on the heroic deeds that preceded him leaving the fold. 

Now, he was trying to process how that meant he knew intimate things about one of his heroes that he felt he had no business knowing. Like how Bruce seemed to glow after making love, or the way the scar on his chest felt pressed to Danses skin. The tastes of his lips when they kissed.

He didn’t realize it, but he was blushing as he gazed in distracted wonder, feeling oddly embarrassed and shy as if he had retroactively overstepped a huge boundary.

“Whatchu thinkin about, kid? You’re as red a tato right now,” Gabriel hung back and nudged him, smirking at him with a teasing expression. 

“Again, not your business,” Danse muttered in a flustered tone. 

Gabriel hummed in his throat like he was saying, ‘whatever you say’, and he grinned ear to ear as he added, “You’re a lucky man. I bet the perks of dating a soon-to-be Elder are gonna be sweet.”

Danse felt his heart skip a beat as Gabriel walked away, laughing as his light ribbing had worked as intended, and Danse panicked as the thought rattled around in his head. He hadn’t considered yet, if Bruce was successful, that would mean he was in a relationship with someone that greatly outranked him. 

“Stop teasing him, Gabriel,” Preston shook his head, but he had a fond smile as he elbowed his General. 

Bruce looked over his shoulder at Danse, seeming to just know that it would make him almost overheat, and he gave Danse a soft, loving smile. 

“Alright, heads up folks,” Preston stopped at the door to the command deck, “Follow the plans, we gotta clear a path so that Bruce can make his claim, anything goes wrong, we step in, understand?”

“Sir, yes, sir,” Echoed from each person present.

The very next moment after they barged through the threshold, Maxson had his men lined up ready to fire as he shouted, “Hold your fire, or this ends bloody.”

Preston and Gabriel glanced at each-other knowingly and they both nodded at the others to lower their weapons. Gabriel squared his shoulders and stared down at Maxson, “Alright, you wanna talk, then talk.”

“The terms of your surrender are simple,” Maxson folded his arms behind his back, “Lay down your weapons, and willingly become prisoners, or die with the rest of your pathetic Minutemen.”

Bruce saw his chance, and he took it, “You have no ground to stand on, murderer. I’m challenging you, by law of the articles written by your ancestor, for the death of Sentinel Sarah Lyons.”

A hushed, reverent silence filled the room, expressions on the Brotherhood soldiers faltering as they looked between each other and at Maxson. The Elder himself looked incredibly surprised, as if he couldn’t believe Bruce would have the audacity to make that claim, and his face slowly twisted into an expression of pure malice. 

“You have no right to make that demand, I won’t allow it,” He growled. 

To his dismay, the men that had been kneeling before him stood and moved to the corners of the room, silently acknowledging that once the sacred article was called no one was to intervene.

“Face me, coward,” Bruce handed his rifle to Danse, briefly sparing a glimpse at his worried expression and he stepped forward to fight with his bare hands. 

“You have no idea what you’re doing,” Maxson watched him, intense hatred in his eyes as he uttered a threat, “I killed Sarah easily, and I’ll kill you too.”

His admission of guilt shocked the Brotherhood soldiers, Danse included. It was somehow different hearing him openly saying it than when Bruce had, and now there was no taking it away.

Maxson stripped out of his coat, tossing it to the side, and he paused as the two sized each other up. 

Bruce made the first move, lunging at Maxson with wild, revenge fueled rage, and he was caught unguarded as Maxson swung his leg and knocked him down. He was quick to jump on Bruce, hands immediately going for his throat, and Maxson laughed as he watched Bruce struggle in vain.

He kicked his legs in a desperate attempt to escape the chokehold, instantly feeling the effects of oxygen deprivation as his face filled with pressure. Bruce could hear Danse crying for him on the sidelines, screaming at Maxson to let him go, and he refocused his efforts. 

His fist came down on Maxson's impossibly solid jaw, and his knuckles started bleeding as though he was beating a brick wall when he continued hitting. Bruce managed to slip out of the hold, sputtering and gasping for air as he rolled away. 

He tried to gather himself quickly, but Maxson was quick to reach him and stomp on his hand with crushing force.  
Bruce screamed in pain as he felt the bones in his hand break, and he rolled to force Maxson's leg to buckle. Kicking the back of his knee until he went down, Bruce climbed on top and let loose a flurry of savage punches that made Maxson’s head crack into the metal floor. 

Their hands caught in the middle and Maxson rolled to overthrow Bruce, but as his back hit the floor Bruce kicked him with both feet in the gut before flinging him headfirst into the railing. 

Maxson caught himself, nearly breaking the banister with his weight and the force of his impact alone, and Bruce came barreling into him with just enough speed that it broke entirely as they were sent plummeting down onto the bottom of the rounded glass viewport. 

Danse had been watching the fight unfold with a barely kept in check urge to intervene, knowing that Bruce would be forfeit if he stepped in, and when they fell he let out a soul wrenching scream as he imagined his lover falling to his death. 

He ran to the edge with everyone else and a small ounce of relief reached him when he saw that they were still alive. 

Maxson tackled Bruce around the middle, taking him down to the ground to repay the favor. His first punch broke Bruce’s nose, and his second made him nearly black out. 

Bruce curved his leg around until it hooked around Maxson's chest as he tried to pin him down, but Maxson was quick to twist out of it and break Bruce’s tibia in the process. Howling in pain, Bruce crawled away from his attacker with his one good arm, his now useless leg dragging on the glass and leaving a trail of blood as the bone had punctured the skin. 

“I’m going to shatter every bone in your body, and then, as you watch, I’m going to have Danse and your friends executed,” Maxson followed him slowly, easily able to keep up, and after promising he would make every second agony he began stomping. 

Bruce rolled, able to dodge most of the incoming blows, and his heart pounded in terror as the sheer force of behind Maxson's legs fractured the glass little by little. Maxson was seemingly unaware or simply didn’t care that if the glass broke they would both fall.

It was risky, but Bruce used that to his advantage as he caught Maxson's foot and swung him down onto the glass before he climbed on top and landed the final blow on Maxson's jaw.

Danse almost couldn’t watch, and he felt his soul leave his body as the glass beneath them shattered and gave way. 

“Bruce!” He wailed, the split second grief flooded him as his eyes had seen Bruce fall, but they had deceived him. The echoing scream of Maxson grew distant as they all were too shocked to move a muscle, staring at the hand that still clung to the metal frame of the missing window. 

Danse forced himself to action, climbing down as quickly as he could and pulling Bruce up with all the strength he could muster as he carefully hauled him back onto the platform where it was safe. 

“Bruce, you did it! I can’t believe it!,” He carefully held him in a loving embrace, rocking back and forth as the tears flowed freely from his eyes, “I love you, more than anything.”

“I love you, too,” Bruce inhaled the warm scent of Danses clothing, sinking into a calm state of mind despite his injuries. 

They parted as the gathered witnesses cheered, the Brotherhood soldiers standing at attention as they saluted and said in unison, “Ad Victoriam, Elder Lyons.”

“Ad Victoriam,” Bruce, actually meaning it for the first time in a long time, gave them all a tired salute as he triumphantly roared the words with Danse. 

\---

Everything came out of the woodwork in the subsequent week after Maxson’s death. His betrayal tore the remnants of the Brotherhood into pieces and some returned to the Capital Wasteland, while others rallied under their new Elder. 

Every man, woman, and child let out a collective sigh of relief as the new leadership made sweeping changes while becoming official allies of the Minutemen, and the Brotherhood was no longer a threat. 

Gabriel strutted through the Prydwen confidently, several months later, wearing a hawaiian t-shirt, one broken arm tucked in a sling under the open fabric. His beige short-shorts were so tight that they nearly almost embarrassingly showed everything, and he topped the whole look off with socks and sandals. 

Piper followed, pen and paper in hand, “So, our illustrious General, what’s your plan now?” 

She tried to hold back a laugh as Gabriel whipped around and slapped on a pair of gaudy flamingo sunglasses, “Gonna go to the beach with the boys and embarrass Preston with this outfit. Then, maybe I’ll kiss him a little.” 

Piper cackled as she saw Deacon, Hancock, and Macready arrive, all wearing outfits to match Gabriel, and she nearly burst into tears laughing, “Priceless, Blue, just don’t have too much fun before I get there, I still want to interview the new Elder and his favorite Sentinel now that they’re up and walking.”

With that said, she left Gabriel and the others to their shenanigans and walked to Bruce and Danses private quarters to get the story she wanted.

Elsewhere, Bruce woke slowly, feeling more rested than he ever had, in a bed they could finally share. Sunlight filtered in through the window facing east and he looked down to see Danse slowly waking up in his arms. A ray of light illuminated his lover’s face, making him appear angelic. 

“Any good dreams, soldier?” He muttered as he ran a hand through Danse’s downy soft hair. 

Danse was still feeling somewhat sore after their brush with death, just like Bruce, but what really stung was one last remaining issue on his mind. He hummed a non committal response, sorting his thoughts quickly. “Can we...discuss something personal?”

Bruce, ready to take on anything now after surviving his worst fear, pulled Danse even closer despite the complaints of his battered, achy body. “Anything you want.”

“There’s so much I wanted to say,” Danse began, finding strength in the steady beat of Bruce’s heart. He inhaled, noting Bruce’s earthy scent was comforting, “I don’t know where to even start.” 

Bruce encouraged him, promising to help him work through whatever was bothering him. 

“I don’t think anything will help me work through it.” Danse sat up with his legs hanging over the side of the hospital bed. He hadn’t left Bruce’s side since that momentous day, but the issue of him being a synth nagged at the back of his mind. 

“I’ve spent my entire life… or what I perceive as my life, following a plan.” He had his back to Bruce, but he could still feel his intense steely gaze boring into him, “Ever since that day...I just feel lost. Almost like I was made for no purpose. For the first time in my life since I signed up, I don’t have all the answers, and it scares the hell out of me.”

He felt Bruce shift behind him and press a broad hand into his back, gently massaging the knots that had formed there. 

“I’m a machine who thinks it’s human, trained to hunt others like myself. Everything I had, everything I’d become before you got tangled up in my life is gone,” He closed his eyes as Bruce’s comforting touch managed to alleviate some of the concern.

He continued after taking a moment to compose himself, “In the span of hours, my identity was ripped from me and my entire world flipped-upside down. Those bastards who made me didn’t even bother giving me memories of siblings or parents. I don’t even know how much of my life is made up and how much is real.” 

His anguish started to bubble to the surface. “Can you even imagine that? What it feels like to just be...some machine. You had a life, a wife who loved you. That’s real. I’m not. I don’t even have a last name. Even though you officially announced my innocence, it still feels like I shouldn’t be here.” 

Bruce curled his arm around Danse and pulled him carefully into his lap, avoiding the metal brace on his leg. The break was nearly fully healed thanks to Curie and her incredible skill, but it was still a bit tender. 

“I don’t deserve any of this. I started out as nothing, and I’ve ended up as nothing and I have no idea what the hell to do about it.” Anger and grief churned his insides. Burning tears spilled from his eyes when he felt Bruce pull his face close and press his lips to his brow. 

Danse recalled a vibrant oil painting printed in an old world book of fairytales. The caption had said, “A lowly serf becomes a noble knight.” One man, in full armor, kissed another, a younger man in tattered clothes, on the crown of his head much like Bruce was now. In what was left of the story the ‘serf’ ended up being a lost prince who became king. 

“You’re not nothing, Danse. You’ll never be nothing.” He turned his head to look at Bruce. A ray of sunlight hit his face in just the right way and Danse could see his steely eyes almost shine. “You’re a Sentinel of the Brotherhood of Steel, and I didn’t just give you a promotion because I felt like it. You deserve all of this. The title, my love, this life, all of it and more.”

“How can you care so much about a machine?” Danse muttered, his voice a low whisper.

Bruce smiled and shook his head, devotion radiating from him in the way he looked at Danse, “You aren’t a machine, Danse, you’re more human than most people could ever hope to be.” 

He kissed Danse, parting their lips with a gentle push to bury his tongue deeply. 

“And another thing,” Bruce interrupted himself, leaving Danse swooning from the heated moment, “You mentioned not having a last mine, but whenever you want it, you can have mine.” 

“I’ll never understand why you want me, but… yes. I’d really like that,” Danse felt his inhibitions and worry melt away as he delicately positioned himself on top. He hovered on his knees, straddling Bruce but not resting his weight on him, and left a trail of appreciative butterfly kisses along his jaw. 

In this moment, he was sure he’d be forever amazed by Bruce’s ability to turn his doubt into bliss. The whole world seemed to drift away and no longer matter whenever Bruce touched him. 

“Well, soon to be Mr. Lyons,” Bruce smiled contentedly, hand lazily roaming over Danse’s chest under his shirt, “You trying to start something with me, huh? In your condition?” 

Danse laughed against Bruce’s neck, “Are you kidding me? My condition? You’re the injured one.” 

Bruce shivered from the pleasant sound and how it reverberated through his body. He was already incredibly hard the moment Danse had sprawled over him. “Don’t underestimate me just yet. I’m invincible when I’m with you.” 

He moved too quickly and grunted in his throat at the subtle pain in his limbs. Danse raised an eyebrow at him and gave him a look that perfectly illustrated a wordless, ‘Are you sure about that?’. 

Bruce let out a laid-back chuckle and eased Danse to sit his full weight on him. “I’m about to make sweet love to my future husband, and in my own bed. This is the life.”

“Who says we’re about to make love?” Danse smiled deviously and pressed his hips forward to tease him. 

Bruce made a little sound in his chest to let Danse know he enjoyed it, “Listen here, I know what you’re doing, and I don’t give a fuck that I’ve been ordered not to do any ‘strenuous activity’. I will bend you over in a heartbeat.”

Danse buried the moan that slipped out of him in Bruce’s mouth as he grinded their bodies together. Gently, remaining mindful of his mostly healed fractured ribs, Danse guided his hand up Bruce’s chest. He paused to pay respects to the bullet wound that almost took Bruce from him, now just another scar, and continued up, stopping at the sensitive buds on each peck and glided his finger in small circles around each one. 

Bruce moaned openly into their mouths as their slippery tongues playfully wrestled, and shifted eagerly underneath his touch. He felt himself straining almost painfully to feel himself move inside of Danse. 

Laser focused on every little sound and subtle change in body language, Danse seemed able to read Bruce’s mind. He sat upright to give him a suggestive glance and tucked one finger over the waistband on Bruce’s boxers. 

“No more teasing, I don’t think I can take it,” His breath was ragged from being so worked up. 

Danse tugged their clothes away, carelessly throwing them in different directions, and lowered his mouth to take every inch of Bruce inside his mouth. He heard Bruce’s head thump onto the pillow as he rose and fell, tongue dragging hotly over rock-hard flesh. 

Moans flowed freely from Bruce, originating from deep in his chest, and it sounded like it was coming from the heart, saying ‘I love you’ over and over. Danse wrapped his lips around the head as the tip of his tongue made tight circles around it and he felt Bruce spasm a bit under him as he let out a strangled noise.

He heard sudden clicks of metal and the shifting of fabric as he was ripped out of the intense moment unceremoniously. Danse watched, stunned with his mouth agape, as Bruce hurriedly rid himself of the brace on his leg and threw it across the room. 

“Your brace, what are you doi-” A surprised yelp slipped out of Danse as Bruce hopped out of bed and heaved him off his feet. He felt the wind get knocked out of him as his back slammed against the metal wall by the bed. 

Bruce’s hands ravenously groped and squeezed as he guided Danse to wrap his legs around him. 

Locking his ankles together behind Bruce’s back, Danse let out a breathless, “You’re a lunatic.” 

Bruce pushed against him, grinding his back into the wall until Danse sucked his breath in with a soft gasp. He felt himself on the very edge of losing his sanity.

“Don’t say I didn’t tell you so if you hurt yourself,” Danse grunted. He wanted nothing more than for Bruce to stay like this with him forever, and he let this show through his actions as he ran his fingers through Bruce’s golden hair.

“I don’t give a damn about myself, I just want you,” Bruce pressed his mouth to Danse’s neck, humid breath tickling the skin there, and his tongue danced in patterns over his pulse while his fingers found that Danse was ready for him. 

“Someone’s eager.” He smirked as his hands spread Danse as far as possible before he carefully took Danse until his cock was fully sheathed in throbbing warmth. Bruce whispered sweet nothings, in both languages that he knew, with a husky tone of voice in between subtle moans as he fucked Danse against the wall. 

Danse felt his heels bumping limply into Bruce’s back as the ragged motion made him lose control. He felt like putty in Bruce’s rough hands and moans poured out of his mouth in a steady stream as he felt himself come too close to climaxing after several intense minutes. 

At exactly the wrong moment, Piper barged in without knocking and caught them in the act, “Oh jeez! Um, sorry you two, I see you’re busy.” 

She stood like a deer in headlights until Bruce angrily told her to ‘get the fuck out’ and she quickly slammed the door shut. Piper then stood staring at the door as the image burned into her brain. “Welp...I saw that.” 

Quickly compartmentalizing the scene and ‘chucking it in the fuck it bucket’, she shuddered and ran to catch up with Gabriel as sounds of vigorous love-making continued unperturbed on the other side of the door. 

Bruce carried them together back to the bed, laying Danse on his back as he made the final stride until he came to a shuddering end on top of him. Danse kept his legs and arms twisted around Bruce’s hips and shoulders, panting from his release and letting the sweet ache throb in his core. 

“I had a thought,” He sighed, running his hands through Bruce’s hair while their bodies vibrated, “This is definitely not the cottage by the sea we were originally envisioning.”

Bruce laughed, shaking both of them and the entire bed before he buried his face in Danses neck, “No, it’s not. I hope you’re okay with settling down in a war blimp by the sea instead. I’ll still get us a dog and a fireplace, if that’s any consolation.”

“I’m okay with any place, as long as you’re there,” Danse met his gaze as he sat up and he smiled fondly, “I’m uncertain about where the future will lead us, or if I'll ever overcome my guilt at being a synth, but one constant I would never change is the way you overshadow all of my worries.”

Bruce leaned to kiss him, but Danse quickly and shyly added, "Also uh...never found a good moment to mention, but...I actually prefer cats."

He smiled at his lover in a way that said, 'anything for you', and Bruce pulled him as close as possible.

They kissed, pouring their ‘I love you’s into the moment before round two started.


End file.
